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THE  HNMVFR^ITY  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSTv  A,  SAN  DIEGO 

U  Julia.  .  l  ^u  NiA 


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?  I  C  C  I  0  L  A. 


THE 


PRISONER     OF     FINESTRELLA 


OB, 


CAPTIVITY     CAPTIVE. 


BY    X.    B.   SAINTINE. 


A    NEW    EDITION,    WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS, 


NEW   YORK: 
OAKLEY,    MASON    AND    CO. 

143  &   144  GRAND   STREET. 

1871. 


PUBLISHERS'  ADVERTISEMENT. 


During  the  eight  years  which  have  elapsed  since  the  first 
appearance  of  Picciola,  it  has  assumed  the  position  of  a 
classic.  It  has  been  crowned  by  the  Academic  Fran^aise; 
and  has  passed  through  numberless  editions,  in  ^ivery  form, 
and  at  every  price,  from  the  costly  and  elegant  edition  de  luxe, 
to  the  cheap  volume  for  schools.  It  has  been  translated  into 
several  foreign  languages.  In  England  it  has  met  with  a 
cordial  reception;  and  in  this  country,  the  favour  with 
which  it  has  been  received  is  attested  by  the  number  of 
editions  through  which  it  has  passed,  the  appearance  of  an 
impression  in  the  original,  and  the  demand  for  imported 
copies. 

Under  these  circumstances,  the  publishers  have  thought 
that  the  numerous  admirers  of  this  beautiful  little  tale  might 
be  pleased  to  possess  it  in  a  form  more  suited  to  its  merits 
than  any  in  which  it  has  heretofore  appeared  in  this  country ; 
they  have  therefore  prepared  this  edition,  with  Illustrations, 
and  an  Introduction  from  the  author,  with  the  assurance  of 
an  extended  sale. 


(») 


INTRODUCTORY  EPISTLE 


TO 


MADAME    VIRGINIE    ANCELOT. 


I  HAVE  re-read  my  book,  and  I  tremble  in  offering  ii  to 
you;  yet  who  can  appreciate  it  better?  You  like  neither 
romances  nor  dramas ;  my  work  is  neither  a  romance  nor  a 
drama. 

The  tale  which  I  have  related,  madam,  is  simple ;  so  sim- 
ple, indeed,  that  perhaps  never  has  pen  laboured  on  a  subject 
n^ore  utterly  restricted.  My  heroine  is  so  unimportant ! 
Not  that  I  wish  beforehand  to  throw  the  fault  of  failure  on 
her ;  f(jr  if  the  action  of  my  little  history  is  thus  meagre,  its 
principle  is  lofty,  its  aim  is  elevated ;  and  if  I  fail  in  attain- 
ing my  purpose,  it  will  be  that  my  strength  is  insufficient. 
Yet  I  am  not  careless  as  to  the  fate  of  my  labor,  for  in  it 
are  the  deepest  of  my  convictions  ;  and  believe  me  that, 
more  from  benevolence  than  vanity,  I  hope,  though  the 
crowd  of  ordinary  readers  may  pass  over  my  work  with 
carelessness,  that  still  for  some  it  may  possess  a  charm,  for 
others,  utility. 

Do  you  find  interest  in  the  truth  of  a  story?  If  so,  I  offer 
fuat  to  you  to  compensate  for  what  you  may  not  find  in  the 
story  itself. 

You  remember  that  lovely  woman,  so  lately  dead,  the 
(-'ouutess  de  Charney,  whose  expression,  though  mournful, 
seemed  already  to  breathe  of  Heaven.     Her  look,  so  open, 

(7> 


viii  INTRODUCTION. 

SO  sweet,  which  seemed  to  caress  while  wandering  over  you, 
and  to  make  the  heart  swell  as  it  Ungered ;  from  which  one 
turned  away  only  to  be  drawn  again  within  its  enchantment; 
you  have  seen  it,  at  first  timid  as  that  of  a  young  girl,  sud- 
denly become  animated,  brilliant,  and  self-possessed,  exhibit- 
ing all  its  native  energy,  power,  and  devotion.  Such  was 
the  woman ;  a  marvellous  union  of  tenderness  and  courage, 
of  the  weakness  of  sense  and  the  strength  of  soul. 

Such  have  I  known  her ;  such  did  others  know  her,  long 
before  me,  when  her  soul  was  excited  only  by  the  affections  of 
a  daughter  and  of  a  wife.  You  understand  the  pleasure  with 
which  I  dwell  with  you  on  such  a  woman;  I  may  not  often 
igain  have  the  opportunity.  Still,  she  is  not  the  heroine  of 
ny  story 

In  ihe  omy  -nsit  which  you  made  her  at  Belleville,  where 
jvas  the  lomh  of  her  husband,  and  now,  alas!  her  own,  you 
nore  than  once  seemed  surprised  with  what  you  saw.  You 
--vere  ■struck  with  an  old,  white-haired  man,  who  sat  next 
ier  ai  table,  whose  appearance  and  manners  were  coarse, 
;vou  tor  his  <'lass.  You  saw  him  speak  familiarly  with  the 
daughter  of  the  countess,  who,  beautiful  as  her  mother  had 
been,  answered  him  with  kindness,  and  even  with  deference, 
giving  him  the  name  of  godfather,  which,  indeed,  was  the 
relation  he  bore  to  her.  Perhaps  you  have  not  forgotten  a 
flower,  dried  and  colorless,  in  a  rich  case ;  and,  also,  that 
when  you  asked  her  concerning  it,  a  saddened  look  stole 
over  the  countenance  of  the  widow,  and  your  questions  re- 
mained unanswered.    This  answer  you  now  have  before  you. 

Honored  with  the  confidence  and  affection  of  the  countess, 
more  than  once,  before  that  simple  flower,  between  her  and 
the  venerable  man,  have  I  listened  to  long  and  touching  de- 
tails. Besides  this,  I  hold  the  manuscripts  of  the  count,  his 
letters,  and  his  two  prison  journals. 

I  have  carefully  retained  in  my  memory  those  precious 
details ;  I  have  attentively  perused  those  manuscripts ;  I  have 


INTRODUCTION.  ix 

made  important  extracts  from  those  letters ;  and  in  those 
journals  have  I  found  my  inspiration.  If,  then,  J  succeed  in 
''ousing  in  your  soul  the  feelings  which  have  agitated  mine 
in  presence  of  these  relics  of  the  captive,  my  fears  for  my 
little  book  are  vain. 

One  word.  I  have  given  throughout  to  my  hero  his  title 
of  count,  even  during  a  time  in  which  such  dignities  were 
obsolete.  This  is  because  I  have  always  heard  him  so  called, 
in  French  and  in  Italian;  and  in  my  memory  his  name  and 
his  title  are  inseparably  connected. 

You  now  understand  me,  madam.  You  will  not  expect 
in  this  book  a  history  of  important  events,  or  the  vivid  de- 
tails of  love.  I  have  spoken  of  utility ;  and  of  what  use  is 
a  love-story?  In  that  sweet  study,  practice  is  worth  more 
than  theory,  and  each  one  needs  his  own  experience :  each 
one  hastens  to  acquire  it,  and  cares  little  to  seek  it  already 
prepared  in  books.  It  is  useless  for  old  men,  moralists  by 
necessity,  to  cry,  "  Shun  that  dangerous  rock,  where  we 
have  once  been  shipwrecked !"  Their  children  answer 
them,  "  You  have  tempted  that  sea,  and  we  must  tempt  it  in 
turn.     We  claim  our  right  of  shipwreck." 

Yet  is  there  in  my  story  something  still  of  love ;  but,  be- 
fore ail,  of  a  man's  love  for shall  I  tell  you  ?     No,  read 

and  you  will  learn. 

X.  B.  SAINTINE. 


PICCIOLA. 


BOOK  I. 


CHAPTER   I. 

Charles  Veramont,  Count  de  Charney,  whose  name  is  not 
wholly  eifaced  from  the  annals  of  modern  science,  and  may  be 
found  inscribed  in  the  mysterious  archives  of  the  police  under 
Napoleon,  was  endowed  by  nature  with  an  uncommon  capacity 
for  study.  Unluckily,  however,  his  intelligence  of  mind,  schooled 
by  the  forms  of  a  college  education,  had  taken  a  disputatious  turn. 
He  was  an  able  logician  rather  than  a  sound  reasoner;  and  there 
was  in  Charney  tlie  composition  of  a  learned  man,  but  not  of  a 
philosopiier. 

At  twenty-five,  the  count  was  master  of  seven  languages;  but 
instead  of  following  the  example  of  certain  learned  Polyglots,  who 
seem  to  acquire  foreign  idioms  for  the  e.xpress  purpose  of  exposing 
their  incapacity  to  the  contempt  of  foreigners,  as  well  as  of  their 
own  countrymen,  through  a  confusion  of  tongues,  as  well  as  intel- 
lect, Charney  regarded  his  acquirements  ;'.s  a  linguist  only  as  a 
stepping-stone  to  others  of  higher  value.  Commanding  the  ser- 
vices of  so  many  menials  of  the  intellect,  he  assigned  to  each  his 
business,  his  duty,  his  fields  to  cultivate.  The  Germans  served, 
him  for  metaphysics;  the  P^nglish  and  Italians  for  politics  and 
jurisprudence ;  all  for  history  ;  to  the  remotest  sources  of  which 
he  travelled  in  company  with  the  Romans,  Greeks,  and  Hebrews. 

In  devoting  himself  to  these  serious  studies,  the  count  did  not 
neglect  the  accessory  sciences.  Till  at  length,  alarmed  by  the 
extent  of  the  vast  horizon,  which  seemed  to  expand  as  he  ad- 
vanced;  finding  himself  stumble  at  every  step  in  the  labyrinth  in 
which  he  was  bewildered — weary  of  the  pursuit  of  Truth — (the 
unknown  goddess,) — he  began  to  contemplate  history  as  the  lie 
of  ages,  and  attempted  to  reconstruct  the  edifice  on  a  surer  foun- 
2  03) 


14  P  I  C  C  I  O  L  A  . 

dation.    He  composed  a  new  historical  romance,  which  the  learned 
derided  from  envy,  and  society  from  ignorance. 

Political  and  legislative  science  furnished  him  with  more  posi- 
tive groundwork;  but  these,  from  one  end  of  Europe  to  the  other, 
were  crying  aloud  for  Reform  ;  and  when  he  tried  to  specify  a 
few  of  the  more  flagrant  abuses,  they  proved  so  deeply  rooted  in 
the  social  system, — so  niany  destinies  wm.  based  on  a  fallacious 
principle,  that  he  was  actually  discouraged.  Charney  had  not  the 
strength  of  mind,  or  insensibility  of  heart,  indispensable  to  over- 
throw, in  other  nations,  all  that  the  tornado  of  the  Revolution  had 
left  standing  in  his  own. 

He  recollected,  too,  that  hosts  of  estimable  men,  as  learned,  and 
perhaps  as  well-intentioned  as  himself,  professed  theories  in  total 
opposition  to  his  own.  If  he  were  to  set  the  four  quarters  of  the 
globe  on  fire  for  the  mere  satisfaction  of  a  chimera?  This  consi- 
deration, more  startling  than  even  his  historical  doubts,  reduced 
him  to  the  most  painful  perplexity. 

Metaphysics  afforded  him  a  last  resource.  In  the  ideal  world, 
an  overthrow  is  less  alarming;  since  ideas  may  clash  without  dan- 
ger in  infinite  space.  In  waging  such  a  war,  he  no  longer  risked 
the  safety  of  others;  he  endangered  only  his  own  peace  of  mind. 

The  farther  he  advanced  into  the  mysteries  of  metaphysical  sci- 
ence, analyzing,  arguing,  disputing, — the  more  deeply  he  became 
enveloped  in  darkness  and  mystery.  Truth,  ever  flying  from  his 
grasp,  vanishing  under  his  gaze,  seemed  to  deride  him  like  the 
mockery  of  a  will-o'-the-wisp,  shining  to  delude  the  unwary.  When 
he  paused  to  admire  its  luminous  brilliancy,  all  suddenly  grew 
dark  :  the  meteor  having  disappeared  to  shine  again  on  some  re- 
m<  ti^-  and  unexpected  point;  and  when,  persevering  and  tenacious, 
Charney  armed  himself  with  patience,  followed  with  steady  steps, 
and  attained  the  sanctuary,  the  fugitive  was  gone  again  !  This 
time  he  had  overstepped  the  mark  1  When  he  fancied  the  meteor 
was  in  his  hand  —  grasped  firmly  in  his  hand  —  it  had  already 
slipped  through  his  fingers,  multiplying  into  a  thousand  brilliant 
and  delusive  particles.  Twenty  rival  trutlis  perplexed  the  horizon 
of  his  mind,  like  so  many  false  beacons  beguiling  him  to  ship- 
wreck. After  vacillating  between  Bossuet  and  Spinoza, — deism 
and  atheism, — bewildered  among  spiritualists,  materialists,  ideal- 
ists, ontologists,  and  eclectics,  he  took  refjge  in  universal  scep- 
ticism, comforting  his  uneasy  ignorance  by  bold  and  universal 
negation. 

Having  set  aside  the  doctrine  of  innate  ideas,  and  the  revelation 
of  theologians,  as  well  as  the  opinions  of  Leibnitz,  Locke,  and 
Kant,  the  Count  de  Charney  now  resigned  himself  to  the  grossest 
pantheism,  unscrupulously  denying  the  existence  of  one  high  and 
supreme  God.     The    contradiction  existing   between   ideas   and 


P  I  C  C  I  O  L  A .  15 

things,  the  irreguhirities  of  the  created  world,  the  unequal  distri- 
bution of  strength  and  endowment  among  mankind,  inspired  his 
overtasked  brain  with  the  conclusion  tiiat  the  world  is  a  conglo- 
meration of  insensate  matter,  and  Ciianck  the  lord  of  all. 

Chance,  therefore,  became  his  Gou  here,  and  nothingness  his 
hope  hereafter.  He  adopted  his  new  creed  with  avidity — almost 
with  triumph — as  if  the  audacious  invention  had  been  his  own.  It 
was  a  relief  to  get  rid  of  the  doubts  which  tormented  him  by  a 
sweeping  clause  of  incredulity  ;  and  from  that  moment,  Charney, 
bidding  adieu  to  science,  devoted  himself  exclusively  to  the  plea- 
sures of  the  world. 

The  death  of  a  relation  placed  him  in  possession  of  a  consider- 
able fortune.  France,  reorganized  by  the  consulate,  was  resuming 
its  former  habits  of  luxury  and  splendour.  The  clarion  of  victory 
was  audible  from  every  quarter ;  and  all  was  joy  and  festivity  in 
(he  capital.  The  Count  de  Charney  figured  brilliantly  in  the 
ivorld  of  magnificence,  elegance,  taste,  and  enlightenment.  Having 
attracted  around  him  the  gay,  the  graceful,  and  the  witty,  he  un- 
closed the  gates  of  his  splendid  mansion  to  the  glittering  divinities 
of  the  day, — to  fashion,  bon  ton,  and  distinction  of  every  kind. 
Lost  in  the  giddy  crowd,  he  took  part  in  all  its  enjoyments  and 
dissipations;  amazed  that  amid  such  a  vortex  of  pleasures  he 
should  still  remain  a  stranger  to  happiness ! 

Music,  dress,  the  perfumed  atmosphere  surrounding  the  fair  and 
fashionable,  were  the  chief  objects  of  his  interest.  Vainly  had  he 
attempted  to  devote  himself  to  the  society  of  men  renowned  for 
wit  and  understanding.  The  ignorance  of  the  learned,  the  errors 
of  the  wise,  excited  only  his  compassion  or  contempt. 

Such  is  the  misfortune  of  proficiency  !  No  one  reaches  the 
artificial  standard  we  have  created.  Even  those  who  are  as  learned 
as  ourselves  are  learned  after  some  other  fashion  ;  and  from  our 
lofty  eminence  we  look  down  upon  mankind  as  upon  a  crowd  of 
dwarfs  and  pigmies.  In  the  hierarchy  of  intellect,  as  in  that 
of  power,  elevation  is  isolated : — to  be  alone  is  the  destiny  of 
the  great. 

Vainly  did  the  Count  de  Charney  devote  himself  to  sensual 
pleasures.  In  the  infancy  of  a  social  system  so  long  estranged 
from  the  joys  of  life,  and  still  defiled  by  the  blood-stained  orgies 
of  the  Revolution,  attired  in  rags  and  tatters  of  Roman  virtue, 
yet  emulating  the  licenlidus  excesses  of  the  regency,  he  signalized 
himself  by  his  prodigality  and  dissipation.  Labour  lost. — Horses, 
equipages,  a  splendid  table,  balls,  concerts,  and  hunting-parties, 
failed  to  secure  Pleasure  as  his  guest.  He  had  friends  to  flatter 
him,  mistresses  to  amuse  his  leisure;  yet,  though  all  these  were 
purchased  at  the  highest  price,  the  count  found  himself  as  far  as 
L'ver  from    the  joys  of  love   or    friendship.     NothiiiL:   availed   tn 


16  PICCIO  L  A. 

smooth  the  wrinkles  of  his  heart,  or  force  it  into  a  smile  :  Charney 
actually  lahovred  to  be  entrapped  bj'  the  baits  of  society,  without 
achieving  captivation.  The  syren  Pleasure,  raising  her  fair  form 
and  enchanting  voice  above  the  surface  of  the  waters,  fascinated 
the  711(111,  but  the  eye  of  the  philosopher  could  not  refrain  from 
plunging  into  the  glassy  depths  below,  to  be  disgusted  by  the  scaly 
body  and  bifurcal  tail  of  the  ensnaring  monster. 

Truth  and  error  were  equally  against  him.  To  virtue  he  was 
a  stranger,  to  vice  indifferent.  He  had  experienced  the  vanity  of 
knowledge;  but  the  bliss  of  ignorance  was  denied  him.  The  gates 
of  Eden  were  closed  against  his  re-entrance.  Reason  appeared 
fallacious,  joy  apocryphal.  'J'he  noise  of  entertainments  wearied 
him;  the  silence  of  home  was  still  more  tedious;  in  company,  he 
became  a  burden  to  others  ;  in  retirement,  to  himself  A  profound 
sadness,took  possession  of  his  soul ! 

In  spite  of  all  Charney's  efforts,  the  demon  of  philosophical  ana- 
lysis, far  from  being  exorcised,  served  to  tarnish,  undermine,  con- 
tract, and  extinguish  the  brilliancy  of  every  mode  of  life  he  se- 
lected. The  praise  of  his  friends,  the  endearments  of  his  loves, 
seemed  nothing  more  than  the  current  coin  given  in  exchange  for 
a  certain  portion  of  his  property,  the  paltry  evidence  of  a  necessity 
for  living  at  his  expense. 

Decomposing  every  passion  and  sentiment,  and  reducing  all 
things  to  their  priniitive  elements,  he,  at  length,  contracted  a 
morbid  frame  of  mind,  amounting  almost  to  aberration  of  intellect. 
He  fancied  that  in  the  finest  tissue  composing  his  garments,  he 
could  detect  the  exhalations  of  the  animal  of  whose  fleece  it  was 
woven — on  the  silk  of  his  gorgeous  hangings,  the  crawling  worm 
which  furnishes  them.  His  furniture,  carpets,  gewgaws,  trinkets 
of  coral  or  mother-of-pearl,  all  were  stigmatized  in  his  eyes  as  the 
spoil  of  the  dead,  shaped  by  the  labours  of  some  squ.ilid  artisan. 
The  spirit  of  inquiry  had  destroyed  every  illusion.  'J  he  imagina- 
tion of  the  sceptic  was  paralyzed  ! 

To  such  a  heart  as  that  of  Charney,  however,  emotion  was  in- 
dispensable. The  love  which  found  no  single  object  on  which  to 
concentrate  its  vigour  expanded  into  tenderness  for  all  mankind ; 
and  he  became  a  philanthropist! 

With  the  view  of  serving  the  cause  of  his  fellow-creatures,  he 
devoted  himself  to  politics,  no  longer  speculative,  but  active;  ini- 
ti;ited  himself  into  secret  societies,  and  grew  a  fanatic  for  freedom, 
the  only  superstition  remaining  for  those  who  have  renounced  the 
higher  aspirations  of  human  nature.  He  enrolled  himself  in  a 
plot'  —  a  conspiracy  against  nothing  less  than  the  sovereignty  of 
the  vict<jrious  Napoleon  ! 

In  this  attempt,  Chnrncy  fancied  himself  actuated  by  paTiotism, 
by   philanthropv,   bv   love  of  his  countrymen!  —  More  likelv  by 


P  I  C  C  I  O  L  A  .  17 

animosity  against  the  one  great  man,  of  whose  power  and  glory  he 
was  envious!  An  aristocrat  at  heart,  he  fancied  himself  a  level- 
ler. The  proud  noble  who  had  been  robbed  of  the  title  of  count, 
bequeathed  him  by  his  ancestors,  did  not  choose  that  his  inferior 
in  birth  should  assume  the  title  of  emperor,  which  he  had  con- 
quered at  the  point  of  his  sword. 

It  matters  little  in  what  plot  he  embarked  his  destinies;  at  that 
epoch,  there  was  no  lack  of  conspiracies!  It  was  one  of  the  many 
hatched  between  1803  and  1804,  and  not  suffered  to  come  to  light: 
the  police — that  second  providence  which  presides  over  the  safety 
of  empires  —  was  beforehand  with  it!  Government  decided  that 
the  less  noise  made  on  the  occasion,  the  better  ;  they  would  not 
even  spare  it  so  much  as  a  discharge  of  muskets  on  the  Plaine  do 
Grenelle,  the  scene  of  military  execution  :  but  the  heads  of  the 
conspiracy  were  privately  arrested,  condemned,  almost  without 
trial,  and  conveyed  away  to  solitary  confinement  in  various  state 
prisons,  citadels,  or  fortresses,  of  the  ninety-six  departments  of 
consular  France. 


CHAPTER   II. 

In  traversing  the  Alps  on  my  way  to  Italy, — an  humble  tourist, 
witli  my  staff  in  my  hand,  and  my  wallet  on  my  shoulder,  I  re- 
niember  pausing  to  contemplate,  near  the  pass  of  Rodoretto,  a  tor- 
rent swollen  by  the  melting  of  the  glaciers.  The  tumultuous 
sounds  produced  by  its  course,  the  foaming  cascades  into  which 
it  burst,  the  varying  colours  and  hues  created  by  the  movement 
of  its  waters,  yellow,  white,  green,  black,  according  to  its  channel 
througli  marl,  slate,  chalk,  or  peat  earth, — the  vast  blocks  of  mar- 
ble or  granite  it  had  detached  without  being  able  to  remove,  around 
which  a  tliousand  ever-changing  cataracts  added  roar  to  roar,  cas- 
cade to  cascade;  the  trunks  of  trees  it  had  uprooted,  of  which  the 
still  foliaged  branches  emerging  from  the  water  were  agitated  by 
the  winds,  while  the  roots  were  buffeted  by  the  waves;  fragments 
of  the  very  banks  clothed  with  verdure,  and  driven  like  floating 
islands  against  the  trees,  as  the  trees  were  driven  in  their  turn 
against  the  blocks  of  granite  ;- — all  this,  these  murmurs,  ciishings, 
and  roarings,  confined  between  narrow  and  precipitous  banks, 
impressed  me  with  wonder  and  admiration.  And  this  torrent  was 
the  Clusone ! 

Skirting  its  shores,  I  pursued  the  course  of  the  stream  into  one 

of  the  four  valleys  retaining  the  name  of  "  Protestant,"   in  the 

memory  of  the  Vaudois  who  formerly  took  refuge  in  their  solitudes, 
<p  # 


18 


PICCIOLA. 


There,  my  torrent  lost  its  wild  irregularity ;  and  its  hundred  roar- 
ing voices  were  presently  subdued.  Its  shattered  trees  and  islands 
had  been  deposited  on  some  adjacent  level ;  its  colours  had  re- 
solved themselves  into  one ;  and  the  material  of  its  bed  no  longer 
distinguishable  on  the  tranquil  surface.  Still  strong  and  copious, 
It  now  flowed  with  decency,  propriety,  almost  with  coquetry  : 
affecting  the  airs  of  a  modest  rivulet  as  it  bathed  the  rugged  walls 
of  Fenestrella. 

It  was  then  I  visited  Fenestrella,  a  large  town  celebrated  for 
peppermint  water,  and  the  fortress  which  crowns  the  two  moun- 
tains between  which  it  is  situated,  communicating  with  each  other 
by  covered  ways,  but  partly  dismantled  during  the  wars  of  the  Re- 
public. One  of  the  forts,  however,  was  repaired  and  refortified 
when  Piedmont  became  incorporated  into  France. 


In  this  fortress  of  Fenestrella,  was  Charles  Veramont,  Count  de 
Chariiey,  incarcerated,  on   an   accusation  of  having  attempted  ic 


P  I  G  C  I  0  L  A  .  19 

subvert  the  laws  of  government,  and  introduce  anarchy  and  con- 
fusion into  the  country. 

Estranged  by  rigid  imprisonment,  alike  from  men  of  science 
and  men  of  pleasure,  and  regretting  neither, — renouncinor  without 
much  effort  his  wild  projects  of  political  regeneration, — bidding  a 
forced  farewell  to  his  fortune,  by  the  pomps  of  which  he  had  been 
undazzled, — to  his  friends,  wiio  were  grown  tiresome,  and  his  mis- 
tresses, who  were  grown  faithless ;  having  for  his  abode,  instead 
of  a  princely  mansion,  a  bare  and  gloomy  chamber ; — the  gaoler 
of  Charney  was  now  his  sole  attendant,  and  his  imbittered  spirit 
his  only  companion. 

But  what  signified  the  gloom  and  nakedness  of  his  apartment? 
The  necessaries  of  life  were  there,  and  he  had  long  been  disgusted 
with  its  superfluities. — Even  his  gaoler  gave  him  no  offence.  It 
was  only  his  own  thoughts  that  troubled  him ! 

Yet  what  other  diversions  remained  for  his  solitude  —  but  self- 
conference  ? — Alas !  none !  Nothing  around  him  or  before  him 
but  weariness  and  vexation  of  spirit!  All  correspondence  was  in- 
terdicted. He  was  allowed  no  books,  nor  pens,  nor  paper;  for 
such  was  the  established  discipline  at  Fenestrella.  A  year  before, 
when  the  count  was  intent  only  on  emancipating  himself  from  the 
perplexities  of  learning,  this  loss  might  have  seemed  a  gain.  But 
now,  a  book  would  have  afforded  a  friend  to  consult,  or  an  adver- 
sary to  be  confuted !  Deprived  of  every  thing,  sequestered  from 
the  world,  Charney  had  nothing  left  for  it,  but  to  become  recon- 
ciled to  himself,  and  live  in  peace  with  that  natural  enemy,  his 
soul.  For  the  cruelty  with  which  that  unsilenceable  monitor  con- 
tinued to  set  before  him  the  desperateness  of  his  condition,  ren- 
dered conciliation  necessary.  His  case  was  indeed  a  hard  one ! 
A  man  to  whom  nature  had  been  so  prodigal,  whose  cradle  society 
had  surrounded  with  honours  and  privileges, — he  to  be  reduced  to 
such  abject  insignificance! — he  to  have  need  of  pity  and  protec- 
tion, who  had  faith  neither  in  the  existence  of  a  God  nor  the  mercy 
of  his  fellow-creatures ! 

Vainly  did  he  strive  to  throw  off  this  frightful  consciousness, 
when  in  the  solitude  of  his  reveries  it  alternately  chilled  and 
scorched  his  shrinking  bosom  :  and  once  more,  the  unhappy  Char- 
ney began  t(j  cling  for  support  to  the  visible  and  material  world, — 
now,  alas !  how  circumscribed  around  him.  The  room  assigned 
to  his  use  was  at  the  rear  of  the  citadel,  in  a  small  building  raised 
upon  the  ruins  of  a  vast  and  strong  foundation,  serving  formerly  for 
defence,  but  rendered  useless  by  a  new  system  of  fortification. 

Four  walls,  newly  whitewashed,  so  that  he  was  denied  even  the 
amusement  of  perusing  the  lucubrations  of  former  prisoners,  hia 
predecessors;  a  table,  serving  for  his  meals;  a  chair,  whose  insu- 
lated unitv  reminded   him,  that  no  human  being  would  ever  sit 


20  P  I  C  C  I  0  L  A  . 

beside  him  there  in  friendly  converse;  a  trunk  for  his  clothes  and 
linen  :  a  little  sideboard  of  paintea  deal,  half  worm-eaten,  oifered  a 
singular  contrast  to  the  rich  mahogany  dressing-case,  inlaid  with 
silver,  standing  there  as  the  sole  representative  of  his  former  splen- 
dours. A  clean,  but  narrow  bed,  window-curtains  of  blue  cloth 
(a  mere  mockery,  for,  thanks  to  the  closeness  of  his  prison  bars 
and  the  opposite  wall  rising  at  ten  feet  distance,  there  was  little 
to  fear  from  prying  eyes  or  the  importunate  radiance  of  the  sun.) 
t-i:ch  was  the  complement  of  furniture  allotted  to  the  Count  de 
L'harney. 

Over  his  chamber  was  another,  wholly  unoccupied  ;  he  had  not 
a  single  companion  in  that  detached  portion  of  the  fortress. 

'J'he  remainder  of  his  world  consisted  in  a  short,  massive,  wind- 
ing stone  staircase,  descending  into  a  small  paved  court,  sunk  into 
what  had  been  moat,  in  the  earlier  days  of  the  citadel,  in  which 
narrow  space  hv  vas  permitted  to  enjoy  air  and  exercise  during 
two  hours  of  the  )lny.  Such  was  the  ukase  of  the  commandant  of 
Fenestrella. 

From  this  confii  -d  spot,  however,  the  prisoner  was  able  to  ex- 
tend his  glance  towt»rds  the  summits  of  the  mountains,  and  com- 
mand a  view  of  the  vapours  rising  from  the  plain  ;  for  the  walls 
of  the  ramparts,  lowering  suddenly  at  the  extretnity  of  the  glacis, 
admitted  a  limited  proportion  of  air  and  sunshine  into  the  court. 
But  once  shut  up  again  in  his  room,  his  view  was  bounded  by  an 
horizon  of  solid  masonry,  and  a  surmise  of  the  majestic  and  pic- 
turesque aspect  of  nature  it  served  to  conceal.  Charney  was  well 
aware  that  to  the  right  rose  the  fertile  hills  of  Saluces ;  that  to  his 
left  were  developed  the  last  undulations  of  the  valley  of  Aorta  and 
the  banks  of  the  Chiara;  that  before  him  lay  the  noble  plains  of 
Turin;  and  behind,  the  mighty  chain  of  Alps,  with  its  adornment 
of  rocks,  forests,  and  chasms,  from  Mount  Genevra  to  Mount  Ce- 
nis.  But,  in  spite  of  this  charming  vicinage,  all  he  was  permitted 
to  behold  was  the  misty  sky  suspended  over  his  head  by  a  frame- 
work of  rude  masonry;  the  pavement  of  the  little  court,  and  the 
bars  of  his  prison,  through  which  he  might  admire  the  opposite 
wall,  adorned  with  a  single  small  square  window,  at  which  he  had 
once  or  twice  caught  glimpses  of  a  doleful  human  countenance. 

What  a  world  from  which  to  extract  delight  and  entertainment! 
'i'he  uflhappy  Count  wore  out  his  patience  in  tlie  attempt !  At 
iir.^t,  he  amused  himself  with  scribbling  with  a  morsel  of  charcoal 
on  the  walls  of  his  prison  the  dates  of  every  happy  event  of  his 
childhood  ;  but  from  this  dispiriting  task  he  desisted,  more  dis- 
couraged than  ever.  The  demon  of  scepticism  next  inspired  him 
with  evil  counsel ;  and  having  framed  into  fearful  sentences  the 
axioms  of  his  withering  creed,  he  inscribed  them  also  on  his  wall 
between  recollections  consecrated  to  his  sister  and  mother ! 


PICCIOLA.  21 

Still  uiiconsoled,  Charney  at  length  made  up  his  mind  to  fling 
aside  his  heart-eating  cares,  adopt,  by  anticipation,  all  the  puerili- 
ties and  brutalization  which  result  from  the  prolongation  of  soli- 
tary confinement.  The  philosopher  attempted  to  find  amusement 
m  unravelling  silk  or  linen  ;  in  making  flageolets  of  straw,  and 
building  ships  of  walnut-shells.  The  man  of  genius  constructed 
whistles,  boxes,  and  baskets,  of  kernels;  chains  and  musical  in- 
struments, with  the  springs  of  his  braces;  nay,  for  a  time,  he  to<ik 
delight  in  these  absurdities  ;  then,  with  a  sudden  movement  of  dis- 
gust, trampled  them,  one  by  one,  under  his  feet! 

To  vary  his  employment,  Charney  began  to  carve  a  thousatnl 
fanciful  designs  upon  his  wooden  table!  No  schoolboy  ever  mu- 
tilated his  desk  by  such  attempts  at  arabesque,  both  in  relief  and 
intaglio,  as  tasked  his  patience  and  address.  The  celebrated  portal 
of  the  church  of  Candebee,  and  the  pulpit  and  palm  trees  of  St. 
Gudula  at  Brussels,  are  not  adorned  with  a  greater  variety  of 
figures.  There  wore  houses  upon  houses,  fishes  upon  trees,  men 
t,i!ler  than  steeples,  boats  upon  roofs,  carriages  upon  water,  dwarf 
pyramids,  and  flies  of  gigantic  stature,  —  horizontal,  vertical, 
oblique,  topsy-turvy,  upside  down,  pell-mell,  a  chaos  of  hiero- 
glypliics,  in  which  he  tried  to  discover  a  sense  symbolical,  an  ac- 
cidental intention,  an  occult  design  ;  for  it  was  no  great  effiirt  on 
the  part  of  one  who  had  so  much  faith  in  the  power  of  chance,  to 
expect  the  developemeut  of  an  epic  poem  in  the  sculptures  on  his 
table,  or  a  design  of  Raphael  in  the  veins  of  his  box-wood  snutT- 
box. 

It  was  the  deliglit  of  his  ingenuity  to  multiply  difficulties  for 
conquest,  problems  for  solution,  enigmas  fur  divination  ;  but  even 
in  the  midst  of  these  recreations,  ennui,  the  formidable  enemy, 
again  surprised  the  captive. 

The  man  whose  face  he  had  noticed  at  the  grated  window,  minht 
have  afforded  him  food  for  conjecture,  had  he  not  seemed  to  avoid 
the  observation  of  the  Count,  by  retiring  the  moment  Charney 
made  his  appearance;  in  consequence  of  which,  he  conceived  an 
abhorrence  of  the  recluse.  Such  was  his  opinion  of  the  huu)aii 
species,  that  the  stranger's  desire  of  concealment  convinced  him 
he  was  a  spy,  employed  to  watch  the  movements  of  the  prisoners, 
or,  perhaps,  some  fi)rmer  enemy,  exulting  over  his  humiliation. 

On  interrogating  the  gaoler,  however,  this  last  supposition  w  is 
set  at  rest. 

"  'Tis  an  Italian,"  said  Ludovico,  the  turnkey.  "  A  good  soul, — 
and,  what  is  more,  a  good  Christian;  for  I  often  find  him  at  his 
devotions." 

Charney  shrugged  his  shoulders  :  "  And  what  may  be  the  cause, 
pray,  of  his  retention?"  said  he. 

"  He  attempted  to  assassinate  the  Emperor." 


22  P  I  C  C  I  O  L  A . 

'Is  he,  then,  a  patriot?" 

"  A  patriot !  Rubbish  !  Not  he.  But  the  poor  soul  had  once 
a  son  and  daughter:  and  noiv  he  has  only  a  daughter.  The  son 
was  killed  in  Germany.  A  cannon-ball  broke  a  tooth  for  hira. 
Povero  Jigliuolo  !" 

"  It  was  a  paroxysm  of  selfishness,  then,  which  moved  this  old 
man  to  become  an  assassin?" 

"You  have  never  been  a  father,  Signor  Conte. !"  replied  the 
gaoler.  "  Cristo  Santo  !  if  my  Antonio,  who  is  still  a  babe,  were 
to  eat  his  first  mouthful  for  the  good  of  this  empire  of  the  French 

(which  is  a  bantling  of  his  own  age,  or  thereabouts,)  I  'd  soon 

But  hasta  !  I  've  no  mind  to  take  up  my  lodging  at  Fenestrella, 
except  as  it  may  be  with  the  keys  at  my  girdle  or  under  my  pil- 
low." 

"  And  how  does  this  fierce  conspirator  amuse  himself  in  pri- 
son ?"  persisted  Charney. 

"Catching  flies!"  replied  the  gaoler,  with  an  ironical  wink 

Instead  of  detesting  his  brother  in  misfortune,  Charney  now  be- 
gan to  despise  him.     "  A  madman,  then?"  he  demanded. 

"  Perche  pozzo,  Signor  Conte?  Though  you  are  the  last  comer, 
you  excel  him  already  in  the  art  of  hacking  a  table  into  devices. 
Pazienza  !" 

In  defiance  of  the  sneer  conveyed  in  the  gaoler's  remark,  Char- 
ney soon  resumed  his  manual  labours,  and  the  interpretations  of 
his  hieroglyphics;  but,  alas!  only  to  experience  anew  their  insuf- 
ficiency as  a  kill-time.  His  first  winter  had  expired  in  weariness 
and  discontent :  when,  by  the  mercy  of  Heaven,  an  unexpected 
object  of  interest  was  assigned  him. 


PICGIO  LA.  23 


CHAPTER   III, 

One  day,  Charney  was  breathing  the  fresh  air  in  the  little  court 
of  the  fortress,  at  the  accustomed  hour,  his  head  declining,  his  eyes 
downcast,  his  arms  crossed  behind  him,  pacing  with  slow  and 
measured  steps,  as  if  his  deliberation  tended  to  enlarge  the  pre- 
cincts of  his  dominion. 

Spring  was  breaking.  A  milder  air  breathing  around,  tanta- 
lized him  with  a  vain  inclination  to  enjoy  the  season  of  liberty,  as 
master  of  his  time  and  territory.  He  was  proceeding  to  number, 
one  by  one,  the  stones  paving  the  court-yard,  (doubtless  to  verify 
the  accuracy  of  former  calculations, — for  it  was  by  no  means  the 
first  time  they  had  put  his  arithmetic  to  the  test,)  when  he  per- 
ceived a  small  mound  of  earth  rising  between  two  stones  of  the 
pavement,  cleft  slightly  at  its  summit. 

The  Count  stopped  short — his  heart  beat  hurriedly  without  any 
rational  grounds  for  emotion,  except  that  every  trivial  incident 
affords  matter  of  hope  or  fear  to  a  captive.  In  the  most  indiffer- 
ent objects,  in  the  most  unimportant  events,  the  prisoner  discerns 
traces  of  a  mysterious  project  for  his  deliverance. 

Who  could  decide  that  this  trifling  irregularity  on  the  surface 
might  not  indicate  important  operations  underground?  Subter- 
raneous issues  might  have  been  secretly  constructed,  and  the  earth 
be  about  to  open  and  afford  him  egress  towards  the  mountains ! 
Perhaps  his  former  friends  and  accomplices  had  been  sapping  and 
mining,  to  procure  access  to  his  dungeon,  and  restore  him  to  light 
and  liberty ! 

He  listened  !  he  fancied  he  could  detect  the  low  murmur  of  a 
subterraneous  sound.  He  raised  his  head,  and  the  loud  and  rapid 
clang  of  the  tocsin  saluted  his  ear.  The  ramparts  were  echoing 
with  the  prolonged  roll  of  drums,  like  the  call  to  arms  in  time  of 
war.  He  started — he  pnssed  his  trembling  hand  over  his  forehead, 
on  which  cold  dews  of  intense  agitation  were  already  rising.  Is 
his  liberation  at  hand  ?  Is  France  submitted  to  the  domination 
of  a  new  ruler? 

The  illusion  of  the  captive  vanished  as  it  came.  Reflection 
soon  restored  him  to  reason.  He  no  longer  possesses  accomi)lices 
—  he  never  possessed  friends!  —  Again  he  lends  a  listening  ear. 
and  the  same  noises  recur;  but  thev  mislead  his  mind  no  longer. 
The  supposed  tocsin  is  only  the  church  bell  which  he  has  been 
accustomed  to  hear  daily  at  the  same  hour,  and  the  drums,  the 
usual  evening  signal  for  retreat  to  quarters.  With  a  bitter  smile, 
Charney  begins  to  compassionate  his  own  folly,  which  could  mis- 


24 


PICCIOL  A, 


t^e  the  insignificant  labours  of  some  insect  or  reptile,  some  wan- 
dering mole  or  field-mouse,  for  the  result  of  human  fidelity,  or  the 
subversion  of  a  mighty  empire. 


G.ILBERT/^n}HO^' 

Resolved,  however,  to  bring  the  matter  to  the  test,  Charney, 
bending  over  the  little  hillock,  gently  removed  the  earth  from  its 
summit ;  when  he  had  the  mortification  to  perceive  that  the  wild 
though  momentary  emotion  by  which  he  bad  been  overcome,  was 
not  produced  by  so  much  as  the  labours  of  an  animal  armed  with 
teeth  and  claws!  but  by  the  efforts  of  a  feeble  plant  to  pierce  the 
soil — a  pale  and  sickly  scatterling  of  vegetation.  Deeply  vexed, 
he  was  about  to  crush  with  his  heel  the  miserable  weed,  when  a 


P  I  C  C  I  O  L  A  .  25 

refreshing  breeze,  laden  with  the  sweets  of  some  bower  of  honey- 
suckles, or  syrinjTas,  swept  past,  as  if  to  intercede  for  mercy  to- 
wards tiie  poor  plant,  which  might  periiaps  hereafter  reward  him 
with  its  flowers  and  fragrance. 

A  new  conjecture  conspired  to  suspend  his  act  of  vengeance 
How  has  this  tender  plant,  so  soft  and  fragile  as  to  be  crushed 
with  a  touch,  contrived  to  pierce  and  cleave  asunder  the  earth, 
dried  and  hardened  into  a  mass  by  the  sun,  daily  trodden  down  by 
his  own  footsteps,  and  all  but  cemented  by  the  flags  of  granite  be- 
tween which  it  was  enclosed?  On  stooping  again  to  examine  the 
matter  with  more  attention,  he  observed  at  the  extremity  of  the 
plant  a  sort  of  fleshy  valve  affording  protection  to  its  first  and  ten- 
derest  leaves,  from  the  injurious  contact  of  any  hard  bodies  they 
might  have  to  encounter  in  penetrating  the  earthy  crust  in  search 
of  light  and  air. 

"  This,  then,  is  the  secret?"  cried  he,  already  interested  in  his 
discovery.  "  Nature  has  imparted  strength  to  the  vegetable  germ, 
even  as  the  unfledged  bird  which  is  able  to  break  asunder  with  its 
beak  the  egg-shell  in  which  it  is  imprisoned ;  happier  than  myself 
—  in  possession  of  unalienable  instruments  to  secure  its  libera- 
tion l"  And  after  gazing  another  minute  on  the  inoffensive  plant, 
tie  lost  all  inclination  for  its  destruction. 

On  resuming  his  walk  the  next  day,  with  wide  and  careless 
steps,  Charney  was  on  the  point  of  setting  his  foot  on  it,  from  in- 
advertence; but  luckily  recoiled  in  time.  Anmsed  to  find  himself 
interested  in  the  preservation  of  a  weed,  he  paused  to  take  note 
of  its  progress.  The  plant  was  strangely  grown ;  and  the  free 
light  of  day  had  already  effaced  the  pale  and  sickly  complexion  of 
the  preceding  day.  Charney  vvas  struck  by  the  power  inherent  in 
vegetables  to  absorb  rays  of  light,  and,  fortified  by  the  nourish- 
ment, borrow,  as  it  were,  from  the  prism,  the  very  colours  predes- 
tined to  distinguish  its  various  parts  of  organization. 

"  The  leaves,"  thought  he,  "  will  probably  imbibe  a  hue  differ- 
ent from  that  of  the  stem.  And  the  flowers?  what  colour,  I  won- 
der, will  be  the  flowers?  Nourished  by  the  same  sap  as  the  green 
leaves  and  stem,  how  do  tliey  manage  to  acquire,  from  the  influ- 
ence of  the  sun,  their  variegations  of  azure,  pink,  or  scarlet?  — 
For  already  their  hue  is  appointed.  In  spite  of  the  confusion  and 
disorder  of  all  human  aff"airs,  matter,  blind  as  it  is,  marches  with 
admirable  regularity:  still  blindly,  however!  for  lo,  the  fleshy 
lobes  which  served  to  facilitate  for  the  plant  its  progress  through 
the  soil,  though  now  useless,  are  feeding  their  superfluous  sub- 
si  mce  at  its  expense,  and  weighing  upon  its  slender  stalk!" 

But,  even  as  he  spoke,  daylight  became  obscured.  A  chilly 
spring  evening,  threatening  a  frosty  night,  was  setting  in  ;  and  the 
two  lobes,  gradually  rising,  seemed  to  reproach  him  with  his  ob- 


26  P  I  C  G  I  0  L  A . 

jections,  by  the  practical  argument  of  enclosing  tiie  still  lender 
foliage,  which  they  secured  from  the  attacks  of  insects  or  .he  in- 
clemency of  the  weather,  by  the  screen  of  their  protecting  wings. 

The  man  of  science  was  better  able  to  comprehend  this  mute 
answer  to  his  cavilling,  because  the  external  surface  of  the  vege- 
table bivalve  had  been  injured  the  preceding  night  by  a  snail, 
v  hose  slimy  trace  was  left  upon  the  verdure  of  the  cotyledon. 

This  curious  colloquy  between  action  and  cogitation,  between 
the  plant  and  the  philosopher,  was  not  yet  at  an  end.  Charney 
was  too  full  of  metaphysical  disquisition  to  allow  himself  to  be 
vanquished  by  a  good  argument. 

"  'Tis  all  very  well !"  cried  he.  "  In  this  instance,  as  in  others, 
a  fortunate  coincidence  of  circumstances  has  favoured  the  deve- 
lopement  of  incomplete  creation.  It  was  the  inherent  qualification 
of  the  nature  of  the  plant  to  be  born  with  a  lever  in  order  to  up- 
raise the  earth,  and  a  buckler  to  shelter  its  tender  head  i  without 
which  it  must  have  perished  in  the  germ,  like  myriads  of  individu- 
als of  its  species  which  proved  incapable  of  accomplishing  their 
destinies.  How  can  one  guess  the  number  of  unsuccessful  efforts 
which  nature  may  have  made,  ere  she  perfected  a  single  subject 
sufficiently  organized  !  A  blind  man  may  sometimes  shoot  home ; 
but  how  many  nncounted  arrows  must  be  lost  before  he  attains 
the  mark  ?  For  millions  of  forgotten  centuries,  matter  has  been 
triturating  between  negative  and  positive  attraction.  How  then 
can  one  wonder  that  chance  should  sometimes  produce  coinci- 
dence? This  fleshy  screen  serves  to  shelter  the  early  leaves. 
Granted !  But  will  it  enlarge  its  dimensions  to  contain  the  rest 
as  they  are  put  forth,  and  defend  them  from  cold  and  insects? 
No,  no;  no  evidence  of  the  calculating  of  a  presiding  Providence! 
A  lucky  chance  is  the  alpha  and  omega  of  the  universe!" 

Able  logician!  —  profound  reasoner  !  listen,  and  Nature  shall 
find  a  thousand  arguments  to  silence  your  presumption  !  Deign 
only  to  fix  your  inquiring  eyes  upon  this  feeble  plant,  which  the 
munificence  of  Heaven  has  called  into  existence  between  the 
stones  of  your  prison  !  You  are  so  far  right  that  the  cotyledon 
will  not  expand  so  as  to  cover  with  its  protecting  wings  the  future 
progress  of  the  plant.  Already  withering,  they  will  eventually  fall 
and  decay.  But  they  will  suffice  to  accomplish  the  purpose  of 
nature.  So  long  as  the  northern  wind  drives  down  from  the  Alps 
their  heavy  fogs  or  sprinkling  of  sleet,  the  new  leaves  will  find  a 
retreat  impermeable  to  the  chilly  air,  caulked  with  resinous  or 
viscous  matter,  and  expanding  or  closing  according  to  the  impulse 
of  the  weather ;  finally  distended  by  a  propitious  atmosphere,  the 
leaflets  will  emerge  clinging  to  each  other  for  mutual  support, 
clothed  with  a  furry  covering  of  down  to  secure  them  against  the 
fatal  influence  of  atmospheric  changes.     Did  ever  mother  watch 


P  I  C  C  1  O  L  A .  27 

more  tenderly  over  the  preservation  of  a  child  ?  Such  are  the  phe» 
nomena,  Sir  Count,  wiiich  you  might  long  ago  have  learned  to 
admire,  had  you  descended  from  the  flighty  regions  of  human  sci- 
ence, to  study  the  humble  though  majestic  works  of  God  !  The 
deeper  your  researches,  the  more  positive  had  been  your  convic- 
tion ;  for  where  dangers  abound,  know  that  the  protection  of  the 
Pro^idence  which  you  deny  is  vouchsafed  a  thousand  and  a  thou- 
sand fold  in  pity  to  the  blindness  of  mankind! 

In  the  weariness  of  captivity,  Charney  was  soon  satisfied  to  oc- 
cupy his  idle  hours  by  directing  his  attention  to  the  transform- 
ations of  the  plant.  But  when  he  attempted  to  contend  with  it 
in  argument,  the  answers  of  the  vegetable  logician  were  too  much 
for  him. 

"  To  what  purpose  these  stiff  bristles,  disfiguring  a  slender 
stem?"  demanded  the  Count.  And  the  following  morning  he 
found  them  covered  with  rime :  thanks  to  their  defence,  the  ten- 
der bark  had  been  secured  from  all  contact  with  the  frost. 

"  To  what  purpose,  for  the  summer  season,  this  winter  garment 
of  wool  and  down  1"  he  again  inquired.  And  when  the  summer 
season  really  breathed  upon  the  plant,  he  found  the  new  shoots 
array  themselves  in  their  light  spring  clothing;  the  downy  vest- 
ments, now  superfluous,  being  laid  aside. 

"  Storms  may  be  still  impending!"  cried  Charney,  with  a  bitter 
smile ;  "  and  how  will  these  slender  and  flexile  shoots  resist  the 
cutting  hail,  the  driving  wind?"  But  when  the  stormy  rain  arose, 
and  the  winds  blew,  the  slender  plant,  yielding  to  their  intempe- 
rance, replied  to  the  sneers  of  the  Count  by  prudent  prostration. 
Against  the  hail,  it  fortified  itself  by  a  new  manoeuvre;  the  leaves, 
rapidly  uprising,  adhered  to  the  stalks  for  protection  ;  presenting 
to  the  attacks  of  the  enemy  the  strong  and  prominent  nerves  of 
their  inferior  surface;  and  union,  as  usual,  produced  strength. 
Firmly  closed  together,  they  defied  the  pelting  shower ;  and  the 
plant  remained  master  of  the  field  ;  not,  however,  without  having 
experienced  wounds  and  contusions,  which,  as  the  leaves  expanded 
in  the  returning  sunshine,  were  speedily  cicatrized  by  its  conge- 
nial warmth. 

"Is  chance  endowed  then  with  intelligence?"  cried  Charney. 
"  Must  we  admit  matter  to  be  spiritualized,  or  humiliate  the  world 
of  intelligence  into  materialism?" 

Still,  though  self-convicted,  he  could  not  refrain  from  interro- 
gating his  mute  instructress.  He  delighted  in  watching,  day  by 
day,  her  spontaneous  metamorphoses.  Often,  after  having  exam- 
ined her  progress,  he  found  himself  gradually  absorbed  in  reveries 
of  a  more  cheering  nature  than  those  to  which  he  had  been  of  late 
accustomed.  He  tried  to  prolong  the  softened  mood  o{  mind  by 
loitering  in  the  court  beside  the  plant;  and  one  day,  while  thus 


28  PICCIOLA. 

employed,  he  happened  to  raise  his  eyes  towards  the  grated  win- 
dow, and  saw  the  fly-catcher  observing  him.  The  cohjur  rose  to 
his  cheek,  as  if  the  spy  could  penetrate  the  subject  of  his  medita- 
tions ;  but  a  smile  soon  chased  away  the  blush.  He  no  longer 
presumed  to  despise  his  comrade  in  misfortune.  He,  too,  had  been 
engaged  in  contemplating  one  of  the  simplest  creations  of  nature; 
and  had  derived  comfort  from  the  study. 

"  How  do  I  know,"  argued  Charney,  "  that  the  Italian  may  not 
nave  discovered  as  many  marvels  in  a  fly,  as  I  in  a  nameless 
vegetable?" 

The  first  object  that  saluted  him  on  his  returning  to  his  cham- 
ber, after  this  admission,  was  the  following  sentence,  inscribed  by 
his  own  hand  upon  the  wall,  a  few  months  before : — 

"  Chance,  though  blind,  is  the  sole  author  of  the  crea- 
tion." 

Seizing  a  piece  of  charcoal,  Charney  instantly  qualified  the  as- 
sertion, by  the  addition  of  a  single  word — "  Perhaps." 


CHAPTER    IV. 

Charney  had  long  ceased  to  find  amusement  in  these  gratuitous 
mural  inscriptions;  and  if  he  still  occasionally  played  the  sculptor 
with  his  wooden  table,  his  efl"orts  produced  nothing  now  but  ger- 
minating plants;  each  protected  by  a  cotyledon,  or  a  sprig  of 
foliage,  whose  leaves  were  delicately  serrated  and  prominently 
nerved.  The  greater  portion  of  the  time  assigned  him  for  exer- 
cise was  spent  in  contemplation  of  his  plant, — in  examining  and 
reasoning  upon  its  developement.  Even  after  his  return  to  his 
chamber,  he  often  watched  the  little  solitary  through  his  prison- 
bars.  It  had  become  his  whim,  his  bauble,  his  hobby ; — perhaps 
only  to  be  discarded  like  other  preceding  favourites! 

One  morning,  as  he  stood  at  the  window,  he  observed  the  gaoler, 
who  was  rapidly  traversing  the  court-yard,  pass  so  close  to  it  that 
the  stem  seemed  on  the  point  of  being  crushed  under  his  footsteps; 
and  Charney  actually  shuddered !  When  Ludovico  arrived  as 
usual  with  his  breakfast,  the  Count  longed  to  entreat  the  man 
would  be  carefiil  in  sparing  the  solitary  ornament  of  his  walk;  but 
he  found  some  difficulty  in  phrasing  so  puerile  an  entreaty.  Per- 
haps the  Fenestrella  system  of  prison  discipline  might  enforce  the 
clearing  of  the  court  from  weeds,  or  other  vegetation.  It  mighi 
be  a  favour  he  was  about  to  request,  and  the  Count  possessed  no 
worldly   means    for  the    requital   of  a    sacrifice.      Ludovico    had 


PIC  CIO  LA.  29 

already  taxed  him  heavily,  in  the  way  of  ransom,  for  the  various 
objects  with  which  it  was  his  privilege  to  furnish  the  prisoners  of 
the  fbriress. 

Besiues,  he  had  scarcely  yet  exchanged  a  word  with  the  fellow, 
by  whose  abrupt  manners  and  character  he  was  disgusted.  His 
pride  recoiled,  too,  from  placing  himself  in  the  same  rank  with  the 
fly-catcher,  towards  whom  Ludovico  had  acknowledged  his  con- 
tempt. Then  there  was  the  chance  of  a  refusal !  The  inferior, 
wiiose  position  raises  him  to  temporary  consequence,  is  seldom 
sufficiently  master  of  himself  to  bear  his  faculties  meekly,  incapa- 
ble of  understanding  that  indulgence  is  a  proof  of  power.  The 
Count  felt  that  it  would  be  insupportable  to  him  to  find  himself 
repulsed  by  a  turnkey. 

At  length,  after  innumerable  oratorical  precautions,  and  the 
exercise  of  all  his  insight  into  the  foibles  of  human  nature, 
Charney  coinmenced  a  discourse,  logically  preconcocted,  in  hopes 
to  obtain  his  end  without  the  sacrifice  of  his  dignity, — or,  to  speak 
more  correctly,  of  his  pride. 

He  began  by  accosting  the  gaoler  in  Italian;  by  way  of  propi- 
tiating his  natural  prejudices,  and  calling  up  early  associations. 
He  inquired  after  Ludovico's  boy,  little  Antonio;  and,  having 
caused  this  tender  string  to  vibrate,  took  from  his  dressing-box  a 
small  gilt  goblet,  and  charged  him  to  present  it  to  the  child  ! 

Ludovico  declined  the  gift,  but  refused  it  with  a  smile  ;  and 
Charney,  thciugh  somewhat  discountenanced,  resolved  to  perse- 
vere. With  adroit  circumlocution,  he  observed,  "  I  am  aware  that 
a  toy,  a  rattle,  ajluw(r,  would  be  a  present  better  suited  to  Anto- 
nio's age;  but  you  can  sell  the  goblet,  and  procure  those  trifles  in 
abundance  with  the  price."  And,  lo !  apropos  of  Jlowirs,  the 
Count  embarked  at  once  into  his  subject. 

Patriotism,  paternal  love,  personal  interest,  every  influential 
motive  of  human  action,  were  thus  put  in  motion  in  order  to  ac- 
complish the  preservation  of  a  plant!  Charney  could  scarcely 
have  d<ine  more  for  his  own.  Judge  whether  it  had  ingratiated 
itself  into  iiis  affections! 

"  Sio-uor  Conti' !"  replied  Ludovico,  at  the  conclusion  of  the 
harangue,  "  riprrndi  stia  narclura  inrlorota!  Were  this  pretty 
bauble  missing  from  your  toilet-case,  its  companions  might  fret 
after  it!  At  three  months  old,  my  bantling  has  scarce  wit 
enough  to  drink  out  of  a  goblet;  and  with  respect  to  your  gilly- 
flower— " 

"  h  it  a  gilly-flower  ?"  inquired  Charney,  with  eagerness. 

"  Sac  a  papioiis  !  how  should  1  know?  All  flowers  are  more  or 
less  gilly-flowers  !  But  as  to  sparing  the  life  of  yours,  eccellenza, 
methinks  the  request  comes  late  in  the  day.  My  boot  would  have 
3* 


30  PICCIOLA. 

been  better  acquainted  with  it  long  ago,  had  I  not  perceived  your 

paninlity  for  the  poor  weed  !" 

"Oh  I  as  to  my  partiality,"  interrupted  Charney,  "I  beg  to  as 
sure  you — " 

"  Ta,  ta,  ta,  ta !  What  need  of  assurance,"  cried  Ludovico. 
"  I  know  whereabouts  you  are  better  than  you  do.  Men  w»/.vi 
have  somi  thing  to  love ;  and  state  prisoners  have  small  choice 
allowed  them  in  their  whims.  Why,  among  my  boarders  here, 
Signoi-  Confc,  (most  of  whom  were  grand  gentry,  and  great  wise- 
acres in  their  day,  for  'tis  not  tlie  small  fry  they  send  into  harbour 
at  Fenestrella,)  you  'd  be  surprised  at  what  little  cost  they  manage 
to  divert  themselves?  One  catches  flies, — no  harm  in  that;  an- 
other— "  and  Ladovico  winked  knowingly,  to  signify  the  applica- 
tion— "  another  chops  a  solid  deal  table  into  chips,  without  con- 
sidering how  far  I  may  be  responsible  for  its  preservation."  The 
Count  vainly  tried  to  interpose  a  word  :  Ludovico  went  on  :  "  some 
amuse  themselves  with  rearing  linnets  and  goldfinches;  others  have 
a  fancy  for  white  mice.  For  my  part,  poor  souls,  I  have  so  much 
respect  for  their  pets,  that  I  had  a  fine  Angora  cat  of  my  own, 
with  long  white  silken  hair,  you  'd  have  sworn  'twas  a  muff  when 
'twas  asleep  ! — a  cat  that  my  wife  doated  on,  to  say  nothing  of  my- 
self. Well,  I  gave  it  away,  lest  the  creature  should  take  a  fancy 
to  some  of  their  favourites.  All  the  cats  in  the  creation  ought 
not  to  weigh  against  so  much  as  a  mouse  belonging  to  a  cap- 
tive !" 

"  Well  thought,  well  expressed,  my  worthy  friend  !"  cried  Char- 
ney, piqued  at  the  inference  which  degraded  him  to  the  level  of 
such  wretched  predilections.  "  But  know  that  this  plant  is  some- 
thing more  to  me  than  a  kill-time." 

"  What  signifies?  so  it  serves  but  to  recall  to  your  mind  the 
green  tree  under  which  your  mother  hushed  your  infancy  to  rest, 
per  Bacco  !  I  give  it  leave  to  overshadow  half  the  court.  My 
instructions  say  nothing  about  weeding  or  hoeing,  so  e'en  let  it 
grow  and  welcome!  Were  it  to  turn  out  a  tree,  indeed,  so  as  to 
assist  you  in  escalading  the  walls,  the  case  w^ere  different!  But 
there  is  time  before  us  to  look  after  the  business — eh!  ecccllmza?'' 
said  the  gaoler,  with  a  coarse  laugh.  "Not  that  you  hav'n't  my 
best  wishes  for  the  recovery  of  the  free  use  of  your  legs  and  lungs ; 
but  all  must  come  in  course  of  time,  and  the  regular  way.  For 
if  you  were  to  make  an  attempt  at  escape — " 

"  Well !  and  if  I  were?"  said  Charney,  with  a  smile. 

"  Thunder  and  hail ! — you'd  find  Ludovico  a  stout  obstacle  m 
your  way!  I'd  order  the  sentry  to  fire  at  you,  with  as  little  scru- 
ple as  at  a  rabbit !  Such  are  my  instructions  !  But  as  to  doing 
mischief  to  a  poor  harmless  giily-flower,  I  look  upon  thnt  man  they 
tell  of  who  killed  the  pet-spider  of  the  prisoner  under  his  charge, 


P  I  C  C  1  O  L  A  , 


31 


•IS  a  wretch  not  worthy  to  be  a  gaoler  !     'Twas  a  base  action,  a- 
cdlenza, — nay,  a  crime  !" 

Cliarney  felt  amazed  and  touched  by  the  discovery  of  so  much 
sensibility  on  the  part  of  his  gaoler.  But  now  that  he  had  begun 
to  entertain  an  esteem  for  the  man,  his  vanity  rendered  it  doublv 
rssential  to  assign  a  rational  motive  for  his  passion. 


'■  Accept  my  thanks,  good  Ludovico,'  said  he,  "  for  your  good- 
will. I  own  that  the  plant  in  question  affords  me  scope  for  a  va- 
riety of  scientific  observations.  I  am  fond  of  studying  its  physio- 
logical phenomena."  Then,  (as  Ludovico's  vague  nodding  of  the 
head  convinced  him  that  the  poor  fellow  understood  not  a  syllable 
he  was  saying,)  he  added,  "  more  particularly  as  the  class  to  which 


32  P  I  C  C  I  O  L  A  . 

it  belongs  possesses  medicinal  qualities,  highlj  favourable  to  a  dis- 
order to  which  I  am  subject." 

A  falsehood  from  the  lips  of  the  noble  Count  de  Charney  I  and 
merely  to  evade  the  contempt  of  a  gaoler,  who,  for  the  moment, 
represented  the  whole  hun)an  species  in  the  eyes  of  the  captive. 

"  Indeed  !"  cried  Ludovico ;  "  then  all  I  have  to  say  is,  that  if 
the  poor  thing  is  so  serviceable  to  you,  you  are  not  so  grateful  to 
tt  as  you  ought  to  be.  If  I  hadn't  been  at  the  pains  of  watering 
It  for  you  now  and  then,  on  my  way  hither  with  your  meals,  la 
povera  picciolu  would  have  died  of  thirst.    Addio,  Signor  Coiitc  !" 

"  One  moment,  my  good  friend,"  exclaimed  Charney,  more  and 
more  amazed  to  discover  such  delicacy  of  mind  so  roughly  en- 
closed, and  repentant  at  having  so  long  mistaken  the  character  of 
his  gaoler.  "  Since  you  have  interested  yourself  in  my  pursuits, 
and  without  vaunting  your  services,  accept,  I  entreat  you,  this 
small  m.emento  of  my  gratitude !  Should  better  times  await  me, 
I  will  not  forget  you  !" 

And  once  more  he  tendered  the  goblet;  which  this  time  Ludo- 
vico exan)ined  with  a  sort  of  vague  curiosity. 

"  Gratitude,  for  what,  Signor  Conte  ?"  said  he.  "  A  plant  wants 
nothing  but  a  sprinkling  of  water ;  and  one  might  furnish  a  whole 
parterre  of  them  in  their  cups,  without  ruining  oneself  at  the  ta- 
vern. If  la  piiciola  diverts  you  from  your  cares,  and  provides 
you  with  a  specific,  enough  said,  and  God  speed  her  growth." 

And  having  crossed  the  room,  he  quietly  replaced  the  goblet  in 
its  compartment  of  the  dressing-box. 

Charney,  rushing  towards  Ludovico,  now  offered  him  his  hand-r 

"No,  no!"  exclaimed  the  gaoler,  assuming  an  attitude  of  re- 
spect and  constraint.  "  Hands  are  to  be  shaken  only  between 
equals  and  friends." 

"  Be  my  friend,  then,  Ludovico!"  cried  the  Count. 

"  No,  f cceZ/twza,  no !"  replied  the  turnkey.  "  A  gaoler  must 
be  on  his  guard,  in  order  to  perform  his  duties  like  a  man  of  con- 
science, to-day,  to-morrow,  and  every  day  of  the  week.  If  you 
were  my  friend,  according  to  my  notions  of  the  word,  how  should 
I  be  able  to  call  out  to  the  sentinel.  Fire!  if  I  saw  you  swiniPiiug 
across  the  moat  ?  I  am  fated  to  remain  your  keeper,  gaoler,  '■  dt- 
voiissimo  servo!" 


F  I  C  G  1  0  L  A  .  33 


CHAPTER   V. 

In  the  course  of  his  solitary  meditations,  after  Ludovico's  de- 
parture, Charney  was  compelled  to  admit  that,  in  his  relations 
with  the  gaoler,  the  man  of  genius  and  education  had  fallen  below 
the  level  of  the  man  of  the  people.  To  what  wretched  subterfuges 
had  he  descended,  in  order  to  practise  upon  the  feelings  of  this 
kind-hearted  and  simple  being!  He  had  even  soiled  liis  noble 
lips  with  an  untruth. 

He  was  startled  to  discover  the  services  recently  rendered  by 
Ludovico  to  the  " povei'n  piccioJa."  The  boor,  the  gaoler,  mo- 
rose only  when  invited  to  a  breach  of  duty,  had  actually  watched 
him  in  secret,  not  to  exult  over  his  weakness,  but  to  render  him  a 
service;  nay,  by  his  obstinate  disinterestedness,  the  man  persisted 
in  imposing  an  obligation  on  the  Count  de  Charney. 

In  his  walk  next  morning,  the  Count  hastened  to  share,  with 
his  little  favourite,  the  cruise  of  water  allotted  to  his  use ;  not  only 
watering  the  roots,  but  sprinkling  the  plant  itself,  to  refresh  its 
leaves  from  dust  or  insects.  While  thus  occupied,  the  sky  became 
darkened  by  a  thunder-cloud,  suspended  like  a  black  dome  over 
the  turrets  of  the  fortress.  Large  rain-drops  began  to  fall  :  and 
Charney  was  about  to  take  refuge  in  his  room,  when  a  few  hail- 
stones mingling  with  the  rain,  pattered  down  on  the  pavement  of 
the  court.  La  povera  plcciola  seemed  on  the  point  of  being  up- 
rooted by  the  whirlwind  which  accompanied  the  storm.  Her 
dishevelled  branches  and  leaves  shrinking  up  towards  their  stalks 
for  protection  against  the  chilling  shower,  trembled  with  every 
driving  blast  of  wind  that  howled,  as  if  in  triumph,  through  the 
court. 

Charney  paused.  Recalling  to  mind  the  reproaches  of  Ludo- 
vico, he  looked  eagerly  around  for  some  object  to  defend  his  plant 
from  the  storm  ;  but  nothing  could  be  seen.  The  hailstones  came 
rattling  down  with  redoubled  force,  threatening  destruction  to  its 
tender  stem;  and,  notwithstanding  Charney's  experience  of  its 
power  of  resistance  against  such  attacks,  he  grew  uneasy  for  its 
safety.  With  an  effort  of  tenderness,  worthy  of  a  father  or  a  lover, 
he  stationed  himself  between  his  protegee  and  the  wind,  bending 
over  her,  to  secure  her  from  the  hail;  and,  breathless  with  his 
struggles  against  the  violence  of  the  storm,  devoted  himself,  like 
a  martyr,  to  the  defence  of /a  picciola. 

At  length  the  hurricane  subsided.  But  might  not  a  recurrence 
of  the  mischief  bring  destruction  to  his  fiivourite  at  some  moment 
when  bolts  and  bars  divided   her  from  her  protector?     He  had 


34  P  I  G  C  I  O  J.  A  . 

already  found  cause  to  tremble  for  her  safety,  when  the  wife  of 
Ludovico,  accompanied  by  a  huge  mastiff,  one  of  ^he  guardians 
of  the  prison,  occasionally  traversed  the  yard;  for  a  single  stroke 
with  its  paw,  or  a  snap  of  its  mouth,  might  have  annihilated  the 
darling  of  the  philosophical  captive;  and  Charney  accordingly 
passed  the  remainder  of  the  day  in  concocting  a  plan  of  fortifi- 
cation. 

The  moderate  portion  of  wood  allowed  him  for  fuel,  scarcely 
supplied  his  wants  in  a  climate  whose  nights  and  mornings  are  so 
chilly,  in  a  chamber  debarred  from  all  warmth  of  sunshine.  Yet 
he  resolved  to  sacrifice  his  comfort  to  the  safety  of  the  plant.  He 
promised  himself  to  retire  early  to  rest,  and  rise  later;  by  which 
means,  after  a  few  days  of  self-denial,  he  amassed  sufficient  wood 
for  his  purpose. 

"Glad  to  see  you  have  more  fuel  than  you  require,"  cried  Lu- 
dovico, on  noticing  the  little  stock.  "  Shall  I  clear  the  room  for 
you  of  all  this  lumber?" 

"Not  for  the  world,"  replied  Charney,  with  a  smile.  "1  am 
hoarding  it  to  build  a  palace  for  my  lady-love." 

The  gaoler  gave  a  knowing  wink,  which  signified,  however,  that 
he  understood  not  a  word  about  the  matter. 

Meanwhile,  Charney  set  about  splitting  and  pointing  the  up- 
rights of  his  bastions;  and  carefully  laid  aside  the  osier  bands 
which  served  to  tie  up  his  daily  fagots.  He  next  tore  from  his 
trunk  its  lining  of  coarse  cloth;  out  of  which  he  drew  the  strong- 
est threads:  and  his  materials  thus  prepared,  he  commenced  his 
operations  the  moment  the  rules  of  the  prison  and  the  exactitude 
of  the  gaoler  would  admit.  He  surrounded  his  plant  with  pali- 
sades of  unequal  height,  carefully  inserted  between  the  stones  of 
the  pavement,  and  secured  at  the  base  by  a  cement  of  earth,  labo- 
riously collected  from  the  interstices,  and  mortar  and  saltpetre  se- 
cretly abstracted  from  the  ancient  turret-walls  around  him.  When 
the  labours  of  the  carpenter  and  mason  were  achieved,  he  began 
to  interlace  his  scaffolding  at  intervals  with  split  osiers,  to  screen 
la  picciola  from  the  shock  of  exterior  objects. 

The  completion  of  his  work  acquired,  during  its  progress,  new 
importance  in  his  eyes,  from  the  opposition  of  Ludovico.  The 
gaoler  shook  his  head  and  grumbled  when  first  he  noticed  the 
undertaking.  But  before  the  close  of  the  performance  the  kind- 
hearted  fellow  withdrew  his  disapprobation ;  nay,  would  even 
smoke  his  pipe,  leaning  against  the  wicket  of  the  courtyard,  and 
watching,  with  a  smile,  the  efforts  of  the  unpractised  mechanic; 
interrupting  himself  in  the  enjoyment  of  his  favourite  recreation, 
however,  to  fivour  Charnev  with  occasional  counsels,  the  result 
of  his  own  experience. 

The  work  progressed   rnpidlv;    but,  to  render   it  perfect,  the 


P  I  C  C  1  O  L  A  .  3.5 

Count  vvas  under  the  necessity  of  sacrilicing  a  po.tion  of  his  scanty 
hedding;  purloining  haudfuls  of  straw  from  his  palliasse,  iti  order 
to  band  up  the  interstices  of  his  basket-work,  as  a  shelter  against 
the  mountain  wind,  and  the  fierceness  of  the  meridian  sun,  which 
in  summer  would  be  reflected  from  the  flint  of  the  adjacent  wall. 

One  evening,  a  sudden  breeze  arose,  after  Charney  had  been 
locked  in  for  the  night, — and  the  yard  was  quickly  strewn  with 
scatter*  d  straws  and  slips  of  osier,  which  had  not  been  worked  in 
with  suflicient  solidity.  Charney  promised  himself  to  counteract 
next  day  the  ill  effects  of  his  carelessness;  but  on  reacliing  the 
court  at  tlie  usual  hour,  he  found  that  all  the  mischief  had  been 
neatly  repaired  :  a  hand  more  expert  than  his  own  had  replaced 
the  matting  and  palisades.  It  was  not  difficult  to  guess  to  whom 
he  was  indebted  for  this  friendly  interposition.  Meanwhile,  thanks 
to  her  friend, — thanks  to  hir  friends,  the  plant  was  now  secured 
by  solid  ramparts  and  roofing:  and  Charney,  attaching  himself, 
according  to  the  common  frailty  of  human  nature,  more  tenderly 
to  the  object  on  which  he  was  conferring  oblicration,  had  the  satis- 
faction to  see  the  plant  expand  with  redoubled  powers,  and  ac- 
(luire  new  beauties  every  hour.  It  was  a  matter  of  deep  interest 
to  observe  the  progress  of  its  consolidation.  Tlie  herbaceous  stem 
was  now  acquiring  ligneous  consistency.  A  glossy  bark  began  to 
surround  the  fragile  stalk;  and  already,  the  gratified  proprietor  of 
this  gratuitous  treasure  entertained  eager  hopes  of  the  appearance 
of  flowers  among  its  leaves.  The  man  of  paralysed  nerves, — the 
man  of  frost-bound  feelings,  had  at  length  found  something  to  wish 
for!  The  action  of  his  lofty  intellect  was  at  last  concentrated 
into  adoration  of  an  herb  of  the  field.  Even  as  the  celebrated 
Q,uaker,.John  Bartram,  resolved,  after  studying  for  hours  the  or- 
ganization of  a  violet,  to  apply  his  powers  of  mind  to  the  analysis 
of  the  vegetable  kingdom,  and  eventually  acquired  high  eminence 
among  the  masters  of  botanical  science,  Charney  became  a  natu 
ral  philosopher. 

A  learned  pundit  of  Malabar  is  said  to  have  lost  his  reason  in 
attempting  to  expound  the  phenomena  of  the  sensitive  plant.  But 
the  Count  de  Charney  seemed  likely  to  be  restored  to  the  use  of 
hix  by  studies  of  a  similar  nature:  and,  sane  or  insane,  he  had  at 
least  already  extracted  from  his  plant  an  arcanum  sufficiently  po 
tent  to  dispel  the  weariness  of  ennui,  and  enlarge  the  limit  of  his 
captivity. 

"If  it  would  but  flower!" — he  frequently  exclaimed,  "  what  a 
delight  to  hail  the  opening  of  its  first  blossom  !  a  blossom  whoje 
beauty,  whose  fragrance,  will  be  developed  for  the  sole  enjoyment 
of  my  eager  senses.  What  will  be  its  colour,  I  wonder!  what  tlie 
form' of  Tts  petals?  —  time  will  show!  Perhaps  they  may  afford 
new  premises  for  conjecture — new  problems  for  solution.    Perhaps 


36  P  I  C  C  I  O  L  A  . 

the  conceited  gipsy  will  offer  a  new  challenge  to  my  understand- 
ing? So  much  the  better!  Let  my  little  adversary  arm  herself 
with  all  her  powers  of  argument.  I  will  not  prejudge  the  case. 
Perhaps,  when  thus  complete,  the  secret  of  her  mysterious  na- 
ture will  be  apparent?  Howl  long  for  the  moment!  —  Bloom, 
picciola  !  bloom — and  reveal  yourself  in  all  your  beauty  to  him  to 
whom  you  are  indebted  for  the  preservation  of  your  life !" 

"  Picciola!" — Such  is  the  name,  then,  which,  borrowed  from 
the  lips  of  Ludovico,  Charney  has  involuntarily  bestowed  upon  his 
favourite! — "Picciola!"  la  povtra  pirriola,  was  the  designation 
3o  tenderly  appropriated  by  the  gaoler  to  the  poor  little  thing  which 
Charney's  neglect  had  almost  allowed  to  perish. 

"Picciola!"  murmured  the  solitary  captive,  when  every  morn- 
ing he  carefully  searched  its  already  tufted  foliage  for  indications 
of  inflorescence ;  "  when  will  these  wayward  flowers  make  their 
appearance !"  The  Count  seemed  to  experience  pleasure  in  the 
mere  pronunciation  of  a  name  uniting  in  his  mind  the  images  of 
the  two  objects  which  peopled  his  solitude;  —  his  gaoler  and  his 
plant ! 

Returning  one  morning  to  the  accustomed  spot,  and,  as  usual, 
interrogating  Picciola  branch  by  branch,  leaf  by  leaf,  his  eyes 
were  suddenly  attracted  towards  a  shoot  of  unusual  form,  gracing 
the  principal  stem  of  the  plant.  He  felt  the  beatings  of  his  heart 
accelerated,  and,  ashamed  of  his  weakness,  the  colour  rose  to  his 
cheek,  as  he  stooped  for  re-examination  of  the  event.  The  spheri- 
cal shape  of  the  excrescence  which  presented  itself,  green,  bristly 
and  imbricated  with  glossy  scales,  like  the  slates  of  a  rounded 
dome  surmounting  an  elegant  kiosk,  announced  a  bud  ! — Eureka! 
— A  flower  must  be  at  hand ! 


CHAPTER    VI. 

The  fly-catcher,  who  occasionally  made  his  appearance  at  his 
grated  window,  seemed  to  take  delight  in  watching  the  assiduities 
of  Charney  towards  his  favourite!  He  had  observed  the  Count 
compose  his  cement,  weave  his  osier-work, — erect  his  palisades; 
and,  admonished  by  his  own  long  captivity  of  tlie  moral  influence 
of  such  pursuits,  readily  conjectured  th;it  a  whole  system  of  phi- 
losophy was  developing  itself  in  the  mind  of  his  fellf)W-prisoner. 

One  memorable  day,  a  new  face  made  its  appearance  at  the 
window, — a  female  face, — fair,  and  fresh,  and  young.  The  stranger 
was!  a  girl,  whose  demeanour  apoeared  at  once  timid   and  lively: 


p  1  c  (•  1 1)  I-  \.  37 

modesty  regulated  tlie  movements  of  her  well-turned  liead,  and  the 
brilliancy  of  lier  animated  eyes,  whose  gl;uiccs  were  veiled  by  long 
silken  eyelashes  of  raven  darkness.  As  she  stood  behind  the 
heavy  grating,  on  which  her  fair  hand  bent  for  support,  her  brow 
inclining  in  the  shade  as  if  in  a  meditative  mood,  she  might  have 
stood  for  a  chaste  personification  of  the  nym[)h  Captivity.  But 
when  her  brow  was  uplifted,  and  the  joyous  light  of  day  fell  on 
her  lovely  countenance,  the  harmony  and  serenity  of  her  features, 
her  delicate  but  brilliant  complexion,  proclaimed  that  it  was  in  the 
free  air  of  liberty  she  had  been  nurtured,  not  under  the  dispiriting 
influence  of  the  bolts  and  bars  of  a  dungeon.  She  was,  perhaps, 
one  of  those  tutelary  angels  of  charity,  whose  lives  are  passed  in 
soothing  the  sick  and  solacing  the  captive?  —  No!  —  the  instinct 
which  brought  the  fair  stranger  to  Fenestrella  was  still  more  puis- 
sant,— even  that  of  filial  duty.  Only  daughter  to  Girardi  the  fly« 
catcher, — Teresa  had  abandoned  the  gay  promenades  and  festivi- 
ties of  Turin,  and  the  banks  of  the  Doria-Riparia,  to  inhabit  the 
cheerless  town  of  Fenestrella,  not  that  her  residence  near  the 
fortress  afforded  free  access  to  her  father :  for  some  time,  she 
found  it  impossible  to  obtain  even  a  momentary  interview  with  the 
prisoner.  But  to  breathe  the  same  air  with  liim, — and  think  of 
nim  nearer  to  herself,  was  some  solace  to  her  affliction.  This  was 
her  first  time  of  admittance  into  the  long-interdicted  citadel;  and 
such  is  the  origin  of  the  delight  which  Charaey  sees  beaming  in 
her  eyes,  and  the  colour  which  he  observes  mantling  on  her  cheek. 
Restored  to  the  arms  of  her  father,  Teresa  Girardi  has  indeed  a 
right  to  look  gay,  and  glad,  and  lovely! 

It  was  a  sentiment  of  curiosity  which  attracted  her  to  the  win- 
dow; — a  feeling  of  interest  soon  attaches  her  to  the  spot.  The 
noble  prisoner  and  his  occupation  excite  her  attention ;  but  find- 
ing herself  noticed  in  her  turn,  she  tries  to  recede  from  observa- 
tion, as  if  convicted  of  unbecoming  boldness.  'I'eresa  has  nothing 
to  fear!  The  Count  de  Charney,  engrossed  by  Picciola  and  her 
Hower-bud,  has  not  a  thought  to  throw  away  on  any  rival  beauty  ! 

A  week  afterwards,  when  the  young  girl  was  admitted  to  pay  a 
second  visit  to  her  father,  she  turned  her  steps,  almost  uncon- 
sciously, towards  the  grated  window  for  a  glimpse  of  the  prisoner; 
when  Girardi,  laying  his  hand  upon  her  arm,  exclaimed,  "My 
fellow-prisoner  has  not  been  near  his  plant  these  three  days.  The 
poor  gentleman  nmst  be  seriously  ill." 

"  III;  seriously  ill  !"  exclaimed  Teresa,  with  emotion. 

"  I  have  noticed  more  than  one  physician  traversing  the  court: 
and  from  what  I  can  learn  from  Lndovico,  they  agree  only  to  a 
single  point; — that  the  Coutit  de  Charney  will  die." 

"  Die!"  again  reiterated  the  young  girl,  with  dilating  eyes,  and 
terror  rather  than  pity  expressed  in  her  countenance.  "  Unhappy 
4 


;JS  P  I  C  C  I  O  L  A  . 

uian  —  unhappy  man!"  Then  turning  towards  her  father,  with 
terror  in  her  looks,  she  exclaimed,  "  People  dik,  then,  in  this  mise- 
rable phice !" 

"  Yes,  the  exhalations  from  the  old  moats  have  infected  the 
citadel  with  fever." 

"  Father,  dearest  father  !" 

She  paused  —  tears  were  gathering  under  her  eyelids  ;  and  Gi- 
rardi,  deeply  moved  by  her  affliction,  extended  his  hand  tenderly 
towards  her.     Teresa  seized  and  cohered  it  with  tears  and  kisses. 

At  that  moment  Ludovico  made  his  appearance.  He  came  to 
present  to  the  fly-catcher  a  new  captive  vvliom  he  had  just  arrested  : 
— neither  more  nor  less  than  a  dragon-fly  with  golden  wings,  which 
he  offered  with  a  triumphant  smile  to  Girardi.  The  fly-catcher 
smiled,  thanked  his  gaoler,  and,  unobserved  by  Ludovico,  set  the 
insect  at  liberty;  for  it  was  the  twentieth  individual  of  the  same 
species,  with  which  he  had  furnished  him  during  the  last  few  days. 
He  profited,  however,  by  the  gaoler's  visit  to  ask  tidings  of  his 
fellow-prisoner. 

"Saiitissituo  mio  padrono !  do  you  fancy  I  neglect  the  poor 
fellow?"  cried  Ludovico,  gruffly:  "though  still  under  my  charge, 
he  will  soon  be  under  that  of  St.  Peter.  I  have  just  been  water- 
ing his  favourite  tree." 

"  To  what  purpose — since  he  is  never  to  behold  its  blossoms?" 
interrupted  the  daughter  of  Girardi. 

"  Pcrchr,  damigdla — perche  1"  cried  the  gaoler,  with  his  accus- 
tomed wink,  and  sawing  the  air  with  a  rude  hand,  of  which  the 
fore-finger  was  authoritatively  extended ;  "  because,  though  the 
doctors  have  decided  that  the  sick  man  has  taken  an  eternal  lease 
of  the  flat  of  his  back,  I,  Ludovico,  gaoler  of  Fenestrella,  am  ofa 
different  opinion.  Non  lo  credo  —  trondidio  ! — I  have  notions  of 
my  own  on  the  subject." 

And  turning  on  his  heel  he  departed ;  assuming,  as  he  left  the 
room,  his  big  voice  of  authority,  to  acquaint  the  poor  girl,  that 
only  twenty-two  minutes  remained  of  the  time  allotted  for  her  visit 
to  her  father.  And  at  the  appointed  minute,  to  a  second,  he  re 
turned,  and  executed  his  duty  of  shutting  her  out. 

The  illness  of  Charney  was  indeed  of  a  serious  nature.  One 
evening,  after  his  customary  visit  to  Picciola,  an  attack  of  faint- 
ness  overpowered  him  on  regaining  his  room ;  when,  rather  than 
summon  assistance,  he  threw  himself  on  the  bed,  with  aching 
brows,  and  limbs  agitated  by  a  nervous  shivering.  He  fancied 
sleep  would  suffice  for  his  restoration. 

But  instead  of  sleep,  came  pain  and  fever;  and  on  the  morrow, 
when  he  tried  to  rise,  an  influence  more  potent  than  his  will  nailed 
him  to  his  pallet.  Closing  his  eyes,  the  Count  resigned  himself  to 
his  sufferings.     In  the  face  of  danger,  the  calmness  of  the  philoso 


P  I  C  C  I  O  L  A .  39 

pher  and  the  pride  of  the  conspirator  returned.  lie  would  havp 
felt  dishonoured  by  a  cry  or  murmur,  or  an  appeal  to  the  aid  of  tliose 
by  whom  he  was  sequestered  from  the  breathing  world; — content- 
ing himself  with  instructions  to  Ludovico  respecting  the  care  of 
his  plant,  in  case  he  should  be  detained  in  bed,  the  cnrcere.  duro 
which  was  to  render  still  harder  his  original  captivity.  Physicians 
were  called  in,  and  he  refused  to  reply  to  their  questioning.  Char- 
ney  seemed  to  fancy  that,  no  longer  master  of  his  existence,  he 
was  exempted  from  all  care  for  his  life.  His  health  was  a  portion 
of  his  confiscated  property;  and  those  who  had  appropriated  all, 
might  administer  to  that  among  the  rest.  At  first,  the  doctors 
attempted  to  overcome  his  spirit  of  perversity  •  but  finding  the  sick 
man  obstinately  silent,  they  began  to  interrogate  his  disorder  in- 
stead of  his  temper. 

The  pathognomonic  symptoms  to  which  they  addressed  them- 
selves, replied  in  various  dialects  and  opposite  senses;  for  the 
learned  doctors  invested  their  questions,  each  in  the  language  of  a 
different  system.  In  the  livid  hue  of  Charney's  lips,  and  the  dilated 
pupils  of  his  eyes,  one  saw  symptoms  of  putrid  fever;  another,  of 
inflammation  of  the  viscera;  while  the  third  inferred,  from  the 
coloration  of  the  neck  and  temples,  the  coldness  of  the  extremi- 
ties, and  the  rigidity  of  the  countenance,  that  the  disorder  was 
paralytic  or  apoplectic; — protesting  that  the  silence  of  the  patient 
was  involuntary,  the  result  of  the  cerebral  congestion. 

Twice  did  the  captain-commandant  of  the  fortress  deign  to  visit 
the  bedside  of  the  prisoner.  The  first  time  to  inquire  whether  the 
Count  had  any  personal  requests  to  make, — whether  he  was  de- 
sirous of  a  change  of  lodging,  or  fancied  the  locality  had  exercised 
an  evil  influence  over  his  health  ;  to  all  which  questions  Charney 
replied  by  a  negative  movement  of  the  head.  The  second  time,  he 
came  accompanied  by  a  priest.  The  Count  had  been  given  over 
by  his  doctors  as  in  a  hopeless  state.  His  time  was  expired ;  it  be- 
came necessary  to  prepare  him  for  eternity;  and  the  functions  of 
the  commandant  required  that  he  should  see  the  last  consolations 
of  religion  administered  to  his  dying  prisoner. 

Of  all  the  duties  of  the  sacerdotal  ofiice,  the  most  augusi,  per- 
haps, are  those  of  the  ordinary  of  a  prison — of  the  priest  whose 
presence  sanctifies  the  aspect  of  the  gibbet !  Yet  the  scepticism 
of  modern  times  has  flung  its  bitter  mockeries  in  the  face  of  these 
devoted  men  !  "  Hardening  their  hearts  under  the  cuirass  of  habit," 
says  the  voice  of  the  scorner,  "  these  officials  become  utterly  in- 
sensible. They  forget  to  weep  with  the  condemned, — they  forget 
to  weep  for  them  ;  and  the  routine  of  their  professional  exhorta- 
tions has  neither  grace  nor  inspiration  in  its  forms  of  prayer." 

Alas!  of  what  avail  were  the  most  varied  efforts  of  eloquence. 
— since  the  exhortation  is  fated  to  reach  but  once  the  ear  of  the 


40  P  I  C  C  I  O  L  A . 

victim! — Alas!  what  need  to  inveigh  against  a  calling  which  con. 
demns  the  pure  and  virtuous  to  live  surrounded  by  the  profligate 
and  hard-hearted,  who  reply  to  their  words  of  peace  and  love,  with 
insults,  imprecations,  and  contempt?  Like  yourselves,  these  de- 
voted men  might  have  tasted  the  luxuries  and  enjoyments  of  life, 
— instead  of  braving  the  contact  of  the  loathsome  rags  of  misery, 
and  the  infected  atmosphere  of  a  dungeon.  Endued  with  human 
sensibilities,  and  that  horror  of  sights  of  blood  and  death  inherent 
in  all  mankind,  they  compel  themselves  to  behold,  year  after  year, 
the  gory  knife  of  the  guillotine  descend  on  the  neck  of  the  male- 
factor; and  such  is  the  spectacle,  such  the  enjoyment,  which  men 
of  the  world  denounce  as  likely  to  wear  down  their  hearts  to 
insensibility  ! 

In  place  of  this  "  man  of  sorrows  and  acquainted  with  grief," 
devoted  for  a  lapse  of  years  to  this  dreadful  function,  in  place  of 
this  humble  Christian,  who  has  made  himself  the  comrade  of  the 
executioner,  summon  a  new  priest  to  the  aid  of  every  criminal  1 
It  is  true,  he  will  be  more  deeply  moved ;  it  is  true,  his  tears  will 
fall  more  readily; — but  will  he  be  more  capable  of  the  task  of  im- 
parting consolation?  His  words  are  rendered  incoherent  by  tears 
and  sobs;  his  mind  is  distracted  by  agitation.  The  emotion  of 
which  he  is  so  deeply  susceptible,  will  communicate  itself  to  the 
condemned;  and  enfeeble  his  courage  at  the  moment  of  rendering 
up  his  life  a  sacrifice  to  the  well-being  of  society.  If  the  fortitude 
of  the  new  almoner  be  such  as  enables  him  to  command  at  once 
composure  in  his  calling,  be  assured  that  his  heart  is  a  thousand 
times  harder  than  that  of  the  most  experienced  ordinary. 

No, — cast  not  a  stone  at  the  prison  priest ;  throw  no  additional 
obstacles  in  the  way  of  so  painful  a  duty  ! — Deprive  not  the  con- 
demned of  their  last  friend.  Let  the  cross  of  Christ  interpose,  as 
he  ascends  the  scaffold,  between  the  eyes  of  the  criminal  and  the 
fatal  axe  of  the  executioner.  Let  his  last  looks  fall  upon  an  object 
proclaiming,  trumpet-tongued,  that  after  the  brief  vengeance  of 
man,  comes  the  everlasting  mercy  of  God  ! 

The  priest  summoned  to  the  bedside  of  Charney,  was  fortunately 
worthy  of  his  sacred  functions.  Fraught  with  tenderness  for  suf- 
fering humanity,  he  read  at  once,  in  the  obstinate  silence  of  the 
Count,  and  the  withering  sentences  which  disfigured  his  prison 
walls,  how  little  was  to  be  expected  of  so  imperious  and  scornful  a 
spirit;  and  satisfied  himself  with  passing  the  night  in  prayers  by 
his  bedside,  charitably  officiating  with  Ludovico  in  the  services  in- 
dispensable to  the  sufferer.  The  Christian  priest  waited,  as  for  the 
light  of  dawning  day,  an  auspicious  moment  to  brighten  with  a  ray 
of  hope  the  fearful  darkness  of  incredulity  ! 

In  the  course  of  that  critical  night,  the  blood  of  the  patient  de- 
termining to  the  brain,  produced  transports  of  delirium,  necessi- 


P  I  C  C  I  f )  L  A . 


II 


lating  restraint  to  prevent  the  unfortunate  Count  from  dashino 
himself  out  of  bed.  As  he  struggled  in  the  arms  of  Ludovico  and 
the  priest,  a  thousand  incoherent  exclamations  and  wild  apostrophes 
burst  from  his  lips;  among  which  the  words  "Picciola, — povera 
Picciola  !"  were  distinctly  audible. 

^' Andiamo  !"  cried  Ludovico,  the  moment  lie  caught  the  sound. 
"  Tiie  moment  is  come  ! — Yes,  yes,  the  Count  is  right — the  mo- 
nient  is  come,"  he  reiterated  witli  impatience.  But  how  was  he 
to  leave  the  poor  chaplain  there  alone,  exposed  to  all  the  violence 
of  a  madman?  "In  another  hour,  it  may  be  too  late!"  cried  Lu- 
dovico. "Corpo  di  Dio! — it  will  be  too  late.  Blessed  Virgin, 
methinks  he  is  growing  calmer!  Yes,  he  droops! — he  closes  his 
eyes! — he  is  sinking  to  sleep!  If  at  my  return  he  is  still  alive, 
all's  well.  Hurra!  reverend  father,  we  shall  yet  preserve  him. 
hurra,  hurra !" 

And  away  went  Ludovico,  satisfied,  now  the  excitement  of  Char- 
ney's  delirium  was  appeased,  to  leave  him  in  the  charge  of  the  kind- 
hearted  priest. 


^li-RERTiL&lf 


42  P  1  C  C  1  O  L  A . 

In  the  chamber  of  death,  lighted  by  the  feeole  flame  of  a  flick- 
ering lamp,  nothing  now  was  audible  but  the  irregular  breathing 
of  tiie  dying  man,  the  murmured  prayers  of  the  priest,  and  the 
breezes  of  the  Alps  whistling  through  the  grating  of  the  prison- 
window.  Twice,  indeed,  a  human  voice  mingled  in  these  monoto- 
nous sounds  : — the  "  qui  vive?"  of  the  sentinel,  as  Ludovico  passed 
and  repassed  the  postern  on  his  way  to  his  lodge,  and  back  to  the 
chamber  of  the  Count.  At  the  expiration  of  half  an  hour,  the 
chaplain  welcomed  the  return  of  the  gaoler,  bearing  in  his  hand  a 
cup  of  steaming  liquid. 

''Santo  C/iri^to! — I  had  half  a  mind  to  kill  my  dog!"  said  Lu- 
dovico, as  he  entered.  "  The  brute,  on  seeing  me,  set  up  a  howl, 
which  is  a  sign  of  evil  portent!  But  how  have  you  been  going  on 
nere?  Has  he  moved?  No  matter!  I  have  brought  something 
that  will  soon  set  him  to  rights ! — I  have  made  bold  to  taste  it  my- 
self!— bitter,  saving  your  reverence's  presence,  as  five  hundred 
thousand  diovoH  !     Pardon  me!  tnio  padre .'" 

But  the  priest  gently  put  aside  the  offered  cup. 

"After  all,"  said  Ludovico,  "  'tis  not  the  stuff  f(-r  us.  A  pint  of 
good  muscadello,  warmed  with  a  slice  or  two  of  lemon,  is  a  better 
thing  for  sitters-up  with  the  sick, — eh  1  Signure  Capillano?  But 
this  is  the  job  for  the  poor  Count ; — this  will  put  things  in  their 
places.  He  must  drink  it  to  the  last  drop ;  for  so  says  the  pre- 
scription." 

And,  as  he  spoke,  Ludovico  kept  pouring  tlie  draught  from  one 
cup  to  another,  and  blowing  to  cool  it;  till,  having  reduced  it  to 
the  proper  temperature,  he  forced  the  half-insensible  Count  to 
swallow  the  whole  potion,  while  the  chaplain  supported  his  shoulders 
for  the  effort.  Then,  covering  the  patient  closely  up,  they  drew 
together  the  curtains  of  the  bed. 

"  We  shall  soon  see  the  effects,"  observed  the  jailer  to  his  com- 
panion. "  I  don't  stir  from  hence  till  all  is  right.  My  birds  are 
safe  locked  in  their  cages;  my  wife  has  got  the  babe  to  keep  her 
company.      What  say  you,  Signorr  Capellano?" 

And  Ludovico's  garrulity  having  been  silenced  by  tlie  almoner, 
by  a  motion  of  the  hand,  the  poor  fellow  stationed  himself  in  si- 
lence at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  dying  man ; 
retairnng  his  very  breath  in  the  anxiousness  of  his  watchfulness  for 
the  event.  At  length,  perceiving  no  sign  of  change  in  the  Count, 
he  grew  uneasy.  Apprehensive  of  having  accelerated  the  last  fatal 
change,  he  started  up,  and  began  pacing  the  room,  snapping  his 
fingers,  and  addressing  menacing  gestures  to  the  cup,  which  was 
still  standing  on  the  table. 

Suddenly  he  stopped  short,  and  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  livid  face 
of  Charney. 

"  1  have  been  the  death  of  him,"  cried  he,  accompanying  the 


P  I  C  C  I  O  L  A .  43 

apostrophe  with  a  t(einendous  oath.  •'  I  have  certainly  been  the 
death  of  him." 

The  chaplain  raised  his  head,  when  Ludovico,  unappalled  by 
his  air  of  consternation,  began  anew  to  pace  the  room,  to  stamp, 
to  swear,  to  snap  his  fingers  with  all  the  energy  of  Italian  gesticu- 
lation, till,  tired  out  by  his  own  impetuosity,  he  threw  himself  on 
his  knees  beside  the  priest,  hiding  his  head  in  the  bedclothes,  and 
murmuring  his  mi  a  culpa,  till,  in  the  midst  of  a  paternoster,  he 
fell  asleep. 

At  dawn  of  day,  the  chaplain  was  still  praying,  and  Ludovico 
still  snoring;  when  a  burning  hand,  placed  upon  the  forehead  of 
the  latter,  suddenly  roused  him  from  his  slumbers. 

"Give  me  some  drink,"  murmured  the  faint  voice  of  Charney. 

And,  at  the  sound  of  a  voice  which  he  had  supposed  to  be  for 
ever  silenced,  Ludovico  opened  his  eyes  wide  with  stupefaction  to 
fix  them  on  the  Count,  upon  whose  face  and  limbs  the  moisture  of 
an  auspicious  eftbrt  of  nature  was  perceptible.  The  fever  was 
yielding  to  the  effect  of  the  powerful  sudorific  administered  by  Lu- 
dovico; and  the  senses  of  Charney  being  now  restored,  he  pro- 
ceeded to  give  rational  directions  to  the  gaoler,  concerning  the 
mode  of  treatment  to  be  adopted;  then,  turning  towards  the 
priest,  still  humbly  stationed  on  his  knees  at  the  bedside,  he  ob- 
served,— 

"I  am  not  yet  dead,  sir?  Should  I  recover,  (as  I  have  every 
hope  of  doing,)  present  the  compliments  of  the  Count  de  Charney 
to  his  trio  of  doctors,  and  tell  them  I  dispense  with  their  further 
visits,  and  the  blunders  of  a  science  as  idle  and  deceptions  as  all 
the  rest.  I  overheard  enough  of  their  consultations  to  know  that 
I  am  indebted  to  chance  alone  for  my  recovery." 

"Chance!"  faltered  the  priest  —  "chance!"  —  And,  having 
raised  his  eyes  to  Heaven  in  token  of  compassion,  they  fell  upon 
the  fatal  inscription  on  the  wall — 

"  Chance,  THOUGH  blind,  is  the  sole  author  of  the  cre- 
ation." 

The  chaplain  paused,  after  perusing  this  frightful  sentiment: 
then,  having  gathered  breath  by  a  deep  and  painful  inspiration,  he 
added,  in  a  solemn  voice,  the  last  word  inscribed  by  Charney  — 

"Perhaps !" 

And  ere  the  startled  Count  could  address  him,  he  had  quitted 
the  apartment. 


14  P  ICC  [OLA. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

Ei.ATED  by  success,  Ludovico  lent  his  ear,  in  a  sort  of  idiotic 
ecstasy,  to  every  syllable  uttered  by  the  Count.  Not  that  he  com- 
prehended their  meaning: — There,  luckily,  he  was  safe.  But  his 
dead  man  was  alive  again :  had  resuuied  his  power  of  speaking, 
thinking,  acting, — a  sufficient  motive  of  e.xultation  and  emotion  to 
the  delighted  gaoler. 

"Viva!"  cried  he;  "  viva,  evviva.  He  is  saved.  All's  well ! 
Che  maravigiia  !     Saved  ! — and  thanks  to  whom  ? — to  what  ?" 

And,  waving  in  the  air  his  earthen  vessel,  he  proceeded  to  hug 
and  embrace  it,  saluting  it  with  the  tenderest  diminutives  of  the 
Tuscan  vocabulary. 

"Thanks  to  what?"  echoed  the  sick  man.  "Why,  to  your 
friendly  care,  my  good.  Ludovico.  Nevertheless,  should  my  cure 
be  perfected,  you  will  find  those  doctors  yonder  claiming  all  ho- 
nour for  their  prescriptions ;   and  the  priest  for  his  prayers." 

"  Neither  they  nor  I  have  any  title  to  the  victory,"  cried  Ludo- 
vico, with  still  wilder  gesticulatiou.  "As  to  the  Signore  Capel- 
lano,  his  handiwork  may  have  done  something:  'tis  hard  to  say. 
But  as  to  the  other, —  ay,  ay, — -as  to  the  other  bringer  of  salva- 
tion— " 

"To  whom  do  you  allude?"  interrupted  Charney,  expecting 
that  the  superstitious  Ludovico  would  attribute  his  recovery  to  the 
interposition  of  some  favourite  saint.  "  Who  has  deigned  to.  be- 
come my  protector?" 

"  Say  jj}-otectress,  and  you  will  be  nearer  the  mark,"  cried  Lu- 
dovico. 

"The  Madonna', — eh?"  demanded  Charney,  with  an  ironical 
smile. 

"Neither  saint  nor  Madonna!"  replied  the  gaoler,  stoutly. 
"  She  who  has  preserved  you  from  the  jaws  of  death  and  the 
claws  of  Satan,  (for  dying  without  confession  you  were  damned 
as  well  as  dead,)  is  no  other  than  my  pretty  little  god-daughter." 

"  Your  god-daughter  !"  said  the  Count,  lending  a  more  atten- 
tive ear  to  his  rhapsodies. 

"  Ay,  ErccUenza,  my  god-daughter,  Picciola,  Picciolinn,  Pic- 
ciolttta.  Was  not  I  the  first  to  baptize  your  favourite?  Did  I 
not  give  her  the  name  of  Pircioln?  Have  you  not  often  told  me 
so  yourself?  Ergo,  —  the  plant  is  my  god-daughter,  and  I  her 
god-father  —  per  Bacco!  I'm  growing  proud  of  the  distinction!" 

"Picciola!"  exclaimed  Charney,  starting  up,  and  resting  his 
elbow  on  his  pillow,  while  an  expression  of  the  deepest  interest 


P  I  C  C  I  O  L  A  .  45 

took  possession  of  his  countenance.     "Explain  yourself,  my  good 
Ludovico,  explain  yourself!" 

"Come,  come,  no  shamming  stupid,  my  dear  lord!"  said  the 
gaoler,  resuming  the  customary  wink  of  the  eye,  "  as  if 'twas  the 
first  time  th;it  she  had  saved  your  life  !" 

"The  first  time?" 

"  Didn't  you  tell  me  yourself  that  the  herh  was  the  only  specific 
against  the  disorder  to  which  you  were  subject?  Lucky  job  I 
hadn't  forgotten  it;  for  the  Signora  Picciola  proves  to  have  more 
wisdom  in  one  <;f  her  leaves,  than  the  whole  faculty  of  Montpellier 
in  the  noddles  that  fill  its  trencher-caps.  Troiididio,  my  little 
god-daughter  is  able  to  defeat  a  regiment  of  doctors!  ay,  in  full 
complements — four  battalions,  and  four  hundred  [)icked  men  to 
each.  Pray,  did  not  your  three  humbugs  in  black,  throw  back 
the  coverlid  on  your  nose,  and  pronounce  you  to  be  a  dead  man? 
while  Picciola,  the  stout-hearted  little  weed,  (God  send  her  seed 
lU  her  harvest !)  brought  you  round  in  the  saying  of  a  paternoster? 
'Tis  a  recipe  I  mean  to  keep  like  the  apple  of  my  eye;  and  if  ever 
poor  little  Antonio  should  fall  sick,  he  shall  drink  broths  of  the 
herb,  and  eat  salads  of  it;  though,  good  truth,  'tis  as  bitter  as 
wormwood.  A  single  cup  of  the  infusion^  and  all  acted  like  a 
charm.      Vittoria!     Viva  V illustrissima  Signoriiia  Picciola!" 

Charney  had  not  the  heart  to  resent  these  tumultuous  ecstacics 
of  his  worthy  keeper.  The  idea  of  being  indebted  for  his  life  to 
the  agency  of  the  feeble  favourite,  which  had  embellished  his  days 
of  health,  insensibly  brought  a  smile  to  his  still  feverish  lips.  But 
a  vague  apprehension  oppressed  his  feelings. 

"  In  what  way,  my  good  Ludovico,  did  you  manage  to  apply 
your  remedy?"  said  he,  faintly. 

"Faith!  easily  enough!  A  pint  of  scalding  water  poured  upon 
the  leaves,"  (Charney  bit  his  lips  with  anxiety,)  "  in  a  close  ket- 
tle, which,  after  a  turn  or  two  over  the  stove,  furnished  the  decoc- 
tion." 

"Indeed  !"  exclaimed  the  Count,  falling  back  on  his  pillow,  and 
pressing  his  hand  to  his  forehead.  "  You  have  then  destroyed  the 
plant!  I  must  nov;  reproach  you,  Ludovico;  you  did  it  for  the 
best.  And  yet,  my  poor  Picciola!  What  will  become  of  me, 
now  I  have  lost  my  little  companion  !" 

"  Come,  come !  compose  yourself!"  answered  Ludovico  as- 
suming the  paternal  tone  of  a  father  comforting  his  child  for  the 
loss  of  a  favourite  plaything.  "  Compose  yourself,  and  do  not  ex- 
pose your  limbs  to  cold,  by  throwing  off  your  clothes  in  this  way. 
Listen  to  reason  !"  he  continued,  di-.posing  the  covering  round  the 
person  of  his  patient.  "  Was  1  to  hesitate  between  the  life  of  a 
gillyflower  and  the  life  of  a  man?  Certainly  not!  'Twould  have 
been  a  sin — a  murder!' 


46  P  I  C  C  I  O  L  A  . 

Charney  groaned  heavily. 

"  However,  I  hadn't  the  heart  to  plunge  the  poor  thing  head 
foremost  into  the  smoking  kettle.  I  thought  a  loan  might  do  as 
well  as  total  pillage;  so,  with  my  wife's  scissors,  I  snipped  off 
leaves  enough  for  a  strong  infusion,  (sparing  the  huds ;  for  the 
jade  has  now  thi'ce  flower-buds  for  her  top-knot,)  and  though  her 
foliage  is  a  little  the  thinner,  I  've  a  notion  the  plant  will  not  suffer 
from  thinning.  Picciohi  will,  perhaps,  be  the  better  for  the  job, 
as  well  as  her  master.  So  now,  be  prudent,  tcccllcnza!  only  be 
prudent,  and  all  will  go  by  clock-work  at  Fenestrella." 

Charney,  directing  a  glance  of  grateful  affection  towards  his 
gaoler,  extended  towards  him  a  hand  which,  this  time,  Ludovico 
felt  himself  privileged  to  accept:  for  the  eyes  of  the  Count  were 
moistened  by  tears  of  emotion.  But  suddenly  recollecting  him- 
self, and  angry  with  his  own  infraction  of  the  rule  he  had  traced 
for  his  conduct  towards  those  committed  to  his  charge,  the  mus- 
cles of  Ludovico's  dark  face  contracted,  and  he  resumed  his  harsh, 
surly,  every-day  tone.  Though  still  holding  within  his  own  the 
hand  of  his  prisoner,  he  affected  to  give  a  professional  turn  to  his 
attitude. 

"  See!"  cried  he,  "  in  spite  of  my  injunctions,  you  still  persist 
m  uncovering  yourself  Remember,  sir,  I  am  responsible  for  your 
recovery  !" 

And,  after  further  remonstrances,  made  in  the  dry  tone  of  office, 
Ludovico  quitted  the  room,  murmuring  to  the  accompaniment  of 
his  rattling  keys,  the  burden  of  his  favourite  song : 

"  I'm  a  gaoler  by  my  trade  ; 

A  better  ne'er  was  made. 
Rasy  'tis  to  laugh  for  those  that  win,  man 

I'd  rather  turn  the  liey 

Than  have  it  turn'd  on  me. 
Better  out  of  doors  than  always  in,  man! 
With  a  lira-lira-la, — driva  din,  man!" 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

DuiuNG  the  remainder  of  that  and  the  following  day,  Charney 
exhibited  the  depression  of  mind  and  body  which  results  from 
every  great  physical  crisis.  But  on  the  third  day  he  resumed  his 
powers  of  thought  and  action;  and,  if  still  detained  by  weakness 
on  his  pillow,  the  time  was  not  far  distant  when  he  was  likely  to 
resume  his  former  habits  of  life. 

What  delight  to  renew  his  acquaintance  with  his  benefactress 


P  I  C  C  I  O  L  A  .  47 

All  his  thoughts  were  now  turned  towards  Picciola!  —  There 
seemed  to  be  something  beyond  the  common  course  of  events  in 
the  fact  that  a  seed,  accidentally  shed  within  the  precincts  of  his 
prison,  should  have  germinated  in  order  to  cure  in  the  first  in- 
stance his  moral  disorder,  —  ennui  :  and  in  tlie  second,  the  peril- 
ous  physical  disease  to  which  he  had  been  about  to  fall  a  victim. 
He,  whom  the  splendour  of  wealth  had  failed  to  enliven,  —  he 
whom  the  calculations  of  human  learning  had  failed  to  restore, — ■ 
had  been  preserved,  first  and  last,  by  a  plant!  —  Enfeebled  by  ill- 
ness, he  was  no  longer  able  to  apply  his  full  force  of  reasoning  to 
the  developement  of  the  question  ;  and  a  superstitious  feeling,  ac- 
cordingly, began  to  attach  him  with  redoubled  force  to  the  myste- 
rious Picciola.  It  was  impossible  to  ground  upon  a  rational  basis 
his  sentiments  of  gratitude  towards  a  non-sentient  being;  never- 
theless Charney  found  it  impossible  to  refuse  his  affection  in  ex- 
change for  the  existence  bestowed  upon  him.  Where  reason  is 
paralysed,  imagination  exercises  her  influence  without  restraint. 
Charney's  regard  for  his  benefactress  now  became  exalted  into  a 
religious  feeling,  or  rather  into  a  blind  superstition.  Between  him 
and  his  favourite  there  existed  a  mysterious  sympathy  of  nature, 
like  the  attracti<m  which  draws  together  certain  inanimate  sub- 
stances. He  even  fiincied  himself  under  a  charm, — a  spell  of  en- 
chantment. Who  knows?  Perhaps  the  arrogant  refuter  of  the 
existence  of  a  God,  is  about  to  fall  into  the  puerilities  of  judicial 
astrology.  For  in  the  secrecy  of  his  cell,  Charney  does  not  hesi- 
tate to  apostrophize  Picciola  as  his  star, — his  destiny, — his  talis- 
man of  light  and  life! 

It  is  a  curious  fact  that  scarcely  one  illustrious  man,  remarkable 
for  knowledge  or  genius,  convicted  of  doubt  in  the  agency  of  a 
Providence,  but  has  been  in  his  own  person  the  slave  of  supersti- 
tion :  while  attempting  to  throw  off  the  yoke  of  servitude,  submit- 
ting to  become  threefold  slaves.  In  the  blind  eagerness  of  their 
pride  to  arrogate  to  their  own  merit  the  power  or  glory  they  have 
attained, — those  deep-seated  instincts  of  religion  which  they  have 
attempted  to  stifle  in  their  souls, — thrust  out  of  their  naiural  chan- 
nel,— force  a  way  of  their  own  towards  daylight,  and  acquire  a 
wild  and  irregular  character.  The  homage  they  arrest  in  its 
course  to  heaven,  falls  back  upon  the  earth.  They  would  fain 
judge,  though  they  refuse  to  believe :  and  the  genius  whose  hori- 
zon they  have  circumscribed,  requites  the  forced  contraction  by 
seeing  things  in  part  instead  of  a  whole,  and  losing  all  power  of 
estimating  the  homogeneous  design  of  the  great  Master  of  all ! 
They  attach  themselves  to  details,  because  an  isolated  fact  is 
within  the  scope  of  their  judgment :  and  do  not  so  much  as  notice 
the  points  of  union  which  connect  it  with  universal  nature.  For 
what  is  the  whole  creation, — earth,  air,  water, — the  winds,  the 


.>S  PICCIOLA. 

waves,  tlie  stars, — mankind, — the  universe,  but  an  infinite  being, 
compiote,  premeditated,  varied  into  inscrutable  details,  and  breath- 
ing and  palpitating  under  the  omnipresent  hand  of  God? 

Subdued,  however,  by  the  strength  of  his  pride  and  the  weak- 
ness of  his  health,  Chaniey  saw  nothing  to  admire  in  nature  but 
his  weed, — his  plant, — his  Picciola  ;  and,  as  if  to  justify  his  folly  by 
analogy,  dived  into  the  vast  stores  of  his  memory  for  a  precedent. 

He  called  to  mind  all  the  miraculous  plants  recorded  from  the 
earliest  times,  by  poet  or  historian;  the  holly  oi  Homer,  —  the 
palm-tree  of  Latona,  —  the  oak  of  Odin;  —  nay,  even  the  golden 
herb  which  shines  before  the  eyes  of  the  ignorant  peasants  of 
Brittany,  and  the  May-flower,  which  preserves  from  evil  thoughts 
the  simple  shepherdess  of  La  Brie.  He  recollected  the  sacred 
fig-tree  of  the  Romans, — the  olive  of  the  Athenians, — the  Teutates 
of  the  Celts, — the  vervain  of  the  Gauls, — the  lotus  of  the  Greeks, 
— the  beans  of  the  Pythagoreans, — the  mandrake  of  the  Hebrews. 
He  remembered  the  green  campac  which  blossoms  everlastingly 
in  the  Persian's  paradise; — the  touba  tree  which  overshadows  the 
celestial  throne  of  Mahomet;  —  the  magic  camalata,  the  sacred 
an)reet  on  whose  branches  the  Indians  behold  imaginary  fruits  of 
Ambrosia  and  of  voluptuous  enjoyment.  He  recurred  with  plea- 
sure to  the  symbolical  worship  of  the  Japanese,  who  elevate  the 
altars  of  their  divinities  on  pedestals  of  heliotropes  and  water- 
lilies,  assigning  the  throne  of  Love  himself  to  the  corolla  of  a  ne- 
nuphar. He  admired  the  religious  scruples  of  the  Siauiese,  which 
make  it  sacrilege  to  e.Kterminate  or  even  mutilate  certain  conse- 
crated shrubs.  A  thousand  superstitions  which  in  former  times 
excited  his  pity  and  contempt  toward  the  short-sightedness  of 
human  nature,  tended  now  to  elevate  his  fellow-creatures  in  his 
estimation.  For  the  Count  had  discovered  that,  from  the  vegeta- 
tion of  an  humble  flower,  may  emanate  lessons  of  wisdom  ;  and 
doubted  not,  that  all  these  idolatrous  customs  must  have  originated 
in  sentiments  of  gratitude  unexampled  by  tradition. 

"  From  his  imperial  throne  of  the  west,"  thought  Charney, 
"Charlemagne  did  not  disdain  to  exhort  the  nation  submitted  to 
his  rule,  to  the  culture  of  flowers.  And  have  not  .^lian  and  He- 
rodotus recorded  that  the  great  Xerxes  himself  took  such  delight 
in  the  beauty  of  an  oriental  plane-tree,  as  to  caress  its  stern, — 
press  it  tenderly  in  his  arms, — sleep  enraptured  under  its  shade, — 
decorating  it  with  bracelets  and  chains  of  gold,  when  compelled 
to  bid  adieu  to  his  verdant  favourite?" 

As  the  convalescence  of  the  Count  proceeded,  he  was  seated 
one  morning  reclining  absorbed  in  thought  in  his  own  chamber 
of  which  he  had  not  yet  ventured  to  cross  the  threshold,  when  his 
door    was   suddenly   burst   open,    and    Ludovico,   with    a   radiant 
countenance,  hastened  towards  hiui. 


P  I  C  C  I  O  L  A  .  49 

"  Vittoria!"  cried  he.  "The  creature  is  in  bloom.  Picciola! 
— Picdolctta  ! — -figUoccia  mia  !" 

"  In  bloom  1"  cried  Charney,  starting  up.  "  Let  me  see  her. — 
I  ?nust  see  the  blossom." 

In  vain  did  the  worthy  gaoler  represent  the  imprudence  of  going 
too  soon  into  the  air ;  and  implore  the  Count  to  delay  the  under- 
taking for  a  day  or  two.  The  morning  was  uncertain, — the  atmo- 
sphere chilly.  A  relapse  might  bring  the  invalid  once  more  to 
the  gates  of  death.  But  Charney  was  deaf  to  all  remonstrance' 
He  consented  only  to  wait  an  hour,  in  order  that  the  sun  might 
become  one  of  the  party. 

"  Picciola  is  in  bloom !"  repeated  Charney  to  himself  And 
how  long, — how  tedious  did  that  hour  appear,  which  was  still  to 
divide  him  from  the  darling  of  his  imagination  !  For  the  first  time 
since  his  illness,  he  judged  it  necessary  to  dress.  He  chose  to 
dedicate  his  first  toilet  to  Picciola  in  bloom.  He  actually  looked 
into  his  pocket-glass  while  he  arranged  his  hair  to  do  honour  to 
his  visit  to  a  flower  ! — \  jloioer? — Nay  ! — surely  something  more? 
His  visit  is  that  of  the  convalescent  to  his  physician,  —  of  the 
grateful  man  to  his  benefactress, — almost  of  the  lover  to  his  mis- 
tress !  He  was  surprised  to  notice  in  the  glass  the  ravages  which 
care  and  sickness  had  wrought  in  his  appearance.  He  began  to 
suspect,  for  the  first  time,  that  bitter  and  venomous  thoughts  may 
tend  to  canker  the  human  frame;  and  milder  contemplations  pro- 
duce a  more  auspicious  temperament. 

At  the  appointed  moment,  Ludovico  reappeared,  to  offer  to  the 
Count  de  Charney  the  support  of  his  arm  down  the  steep  steps  of 
the  winding  stone  staircase ;  and  scarcely  had  the  sick  man 
emerged  into  the  court,  when  the  emotion  caused  by  a  sudden 
restoration  to  light  and  air,  operating  on  the  sensitiveness  of  an 
easily  excitable  nervous  system,  produced  a  conviction  on  his  mind 
that  the  whole  atmosphere  was  vivified  and  embalmed  by  the  ema- 
nations of  his  flower  It  was  to  Picciola  he  attributed  the  delight- 
ful emotions  which  agitated  his  bosom. 

The  enchantress  had,  indeed,  attired  herself  in  all  her  charm?! 
The  coquette  was  shining  in  all  her  beauty.  Her  brilliant  and 
delicately  streaked  corolla,  in  which  crimson,  pink,  and  white 
were  blended  by  imperceptible  gradations,  her  large  transparent 
petal  bordered  by  a  little  silvery  fringe  or  ciliation,  which  the 
scattered  rays  of  the  sun  seemed  to  brighten  into  a  halo  encircling 
the  flower,  exceeded  the  utmost  anticipations  of  the  Count,  as  hii 
stood  gazing  with  transport  upon  his  queen!  He  feared,  indeed, 
to  tarnish  the  delicacy  of  the  blossom  by  the  contact  of  his  hand 
or  breath.  Analysis  or  investigation  seemed  out  of  tne  question, 
engrossed  as  he  was  bv  love  and  admiration  for  the  delicate  thing 
5 


50  P  I  C  C  I  O  L  A  . 

whose  fragrance  and  beauty  breathed  enchantment  upon  every 
sense ! 

But  he  was  soon  startled  from  his  reveries !  The  Count  no- 
ticed, for  the  first  time,  traces  of  the  mutilation  by  which  he  hud 
been  restored  to  health;  branches  half  cut  away,  and  fading  leaves 
still  wounded  by  contact  with  the  scissors  of  Ludovico.  Teass 
started  into  his  eyes!  Instead  of  admiration  for  the  delicate  lines 
and  perfumes  of  those  expanding  blossoms,  he  experienced  only 
gratitude  for  the  gift  of  life  I  He  beheld  a  benefactress  in  his 
Picciola. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

The  physician  of  the  prison  condescended  to  authorize  on  the 
morrow,  the  Count  de  Charney's  resumption  of  his  daily  exercise. 
He  was  allowed  the  freedom  of  the  little  court,  not  only  at  the 
usual  hours,  but  at  any  moment  of  the  day.  Air  and  exercise 
were  considered  indispensable  to  his  recovery ;  and  thus,  the  pri- 
soner was  enabled  to  apply  himself  anew  to  his  long-interrupted 
studies. 

In  the  view  of  committing  to  writing  his  scientific  observations 
on  the  developement  of  his  plant,  from  the  moment  of  its  germi- 
nation, he  tried  to  seduce  Ludovico  into  furnishing  him  with  pens 
and  paper.  He  expected,  indeed,  to  find  the  gaoler  resume  on 
this  occasion  an  air  of  importance,  and  raise  a  thousand  difficul- 
ties, but  probably  yield  in  the  sequel  out  of  love  for  his  captiv.e, 
or  his  god-daughter,  or  worldly  pelf;  for  where  perquisites  were 
concerned,  turnkey-nature  was  still  uppermost.  But  to  Charney's 
great  surprise,  Ludovico  received  his  propositions  with  the  most 
frank  good-humour. 

"  Pens  and  ink?  Nothing  more  easy,  Si^Hor  Conte !"  said  he, 
tapping  his  pipe  and  turning  aside  his  head  to  keep  it  alive  by  a 
whiff  or  two:  for  he  made  it  a  point  to  abstain  from  smoking  in 
presence  of  the  Count,  to  whom  the  smell  of  tobacco  was  disa- 
greeable. "  I,  for  my  part,  have  no  objection.  But  you  see,  such 
little  tools  as  pens  and  paper  remain  under  the  lock  and  key  of 
the  governor,  not  under  mine:  and  if  you  want  writing  materials, 
you  have  only  to  memorialize  the  captain-commandant,  and  your 
business  is  done !" 

Charney  smiled,  and  perseveied. 

•'  But  in  order  to  frame  my  petition,  good  Ludovico,"  said  he, 
"pens,  ink,  and  paper  are,  in  the  first  instance,  indispensable?" 

"True,  crccllenza,  true!     But  we  must  drag  back  the  donkey 


P  1  C  C  I  O  L  A  .  51 

by  the  tail  to  make  it  get  on  —  no  uncommon  method  with  peti- 
tions," quoth  the  gaoler,  half  aside,  crossing  his  hands  consequen- 
tially behind  him.  "  1  must  go  straight  to  the  governor,  and  tell 
him  you  have  a  request  to  make,  no  matter  about  what.  That  is 
not  my  business,  but  his  and  yours.  If  inconvenient  to  him  to  visit 
you  in  person,  he  '11  send  his  man  of  business,  who  will  furnish  you 
with  a  pen  and  a  piece  of  stamped  paper,  just  one  sheet,  ruled  in 
form  for  a  petition,  on  which  you  must  inscribe  your  memorial  in 
his  presence;  after  which,  he  places  his  seal  on  it  in  yours;  you 
return  the  pen  to  him,  he  makes  you  a  bow,  and  away  he  goes  with 
the  petition  !" 

"  But  it  is  not  from  the  governor  I  ask  for  paper,  Ludovico,  'tis 
from  yourself." 

"  From  me?  You  don't  then  happen  to  know  my  orders?"  re- 
plied the  gaoler,  resuming  his  accustomed  severity.  Then  drawing 
a  deep  breath  of  his  pipe,  he  exhaled  the  smoke  with  much  delibe- 
ration, eyeing  the  Count  askance  during  the  process,  turned  on  his 
heel,  and  quitted  the  room. 

Next  day,  when  Charney  returned  to  the  charge,  Ludovico 
contented  himself  with  winking  his  eye,  shaking  his  head,  and 
shrugging  his  shoulders.  Not  a  word  now  was  to  be  extracted 
from  him. 

Too  proud  to  humiliate  himself  to  the  governor,  but  still  bent 
upon  his  project,  Charney  now  set  to  work  to  make  a  pen  for  him- 
self out  of  a  crow-quill  tooth-pick.  With  some  soot,  carefully  dis- 
solved in  one  of  the  golden  cups  of  his  dressing-case,  he  furnished 
himself  with  ink  and  inkstand;  while  his  cambric  handkerchiefs, 
relics  of  a  former  splendour,  were  made  to  serve  for  writing-paper. 
With  these  awkward  materials,  he  resolved  to  record  the  peculiar- 
ities of  Picciola ;  occupying  himself,  even  when  absent  from  his 
favourite,  with  details  of  her  life  and  history. 

What  profound  remarks  already  presented  themselves  for  inscrip- 
tion !  What  pleasure  would  Charney  have  found  in  communicatincr 
his  observations  to  any  intelligent  human  being!  His  neighbour, 
the  fly-catcher,  might  have  been  a  satisfiictory  auditor;  for  Charney 
had  now  found  occasion  to  admire  the  bland  and  benevolent  ex- 
pression of  a  countenance,  at  first  sight  commonplace.  Whenever 
the  old  man  stood  contemplating  from  his  little  window,  with  an 
inquiring  and  propitious  eye,  the  beauty  of  Picciola,  and  the  atten- 
tions of  her  votary,  the  Count  felt  irresistibly  attracted  towards  his 
fellow-prisoner.  Nay,  smiles  and  salutations  with  the  hand  had 
been  exchanged  between  them  ;  and  it  was  only  the  rigid  interdic- 
tion of  all  intercourse  between  prisoners  at  Fenestrella,  which 
prevented  mutual  inquiries  after  each  other's  health  and  pursuits. 
The  solitary  explorers  into  the  mysteries  of  nature  were  therefore 


52  P  I  C  C  I  O  L  A . 

compelled  to  keep  to  themselves  their  grand  discoveiies  in  botany 
and  entomology. 

First  among  those  by  which  Charney  was  interested,  after  the 
flowering  of  his  plant,  was  the  faculty  exhibited  by  Picciola  of. 
turning  her  sweet  face  towards  the  sun,  and  following  him  with 
her  looks  throughout  his  daily  course,  as  if  to  imbibe  the  greatest 
possible  portion  of  his  vivifying  rays.  When  clouds  obscured  the 
orb  of  day,  or  there  was  a  prospect  of  rain,  her  petals  instantly 
closed,  like  a  vessel  furling  its  canvass  before  a  storm.  "Are  light 
and  heat  so  necessary,  then,  to  her  existence?"  mused  the  Count ; 
•'  and  why  should  she  fear  to  refresh  herself  with  a  sprinkling 
shower?  Why?  why?  Picciola  will  explain!  I  have  perfect 
confidence  in  Picciola!" 

Already  his  darling  had  fulfilled  towards  him  the  functions  of  a 
physician.  She  was  now  about  to  become  his  compass  and  baro- 
meter, perhaps  even  his  timepiece;  for  by  dint  of  constantly  in- 
haling her  fragrance,  Charney  found  he  could  discover  that  her 
perfumes  varied  in  power  and  quality  at  different  hours  of  the  day. 
At  first,  this  phenomenon  seemed  an  illusion;  but  reiterated  ex- 
periments convinced  him  that  he  was  not  mistaken  ;  and  he  was 
soon  able  to  designate  to  a  certainty  the  hour  of  the  day,  according 
to  the  varying  odour  of  the  flower.* 

Innumerable  blossoms  already  studded  his  beautiful  plant :  to- 
wards evening,  their  exhalations  were  as  delicious  as  they  were 
potent;  and  at  that  m.oment,  what  a  relief  to  the  weary  captive  to 
draw  near  to  his  favourite!  He  now  constructed  a  rude  bench, 
with  some  planks  derived  from  the  munificence  of  Ludovico,  and 
pointed  a  few  logs,  which  he  contrived  to  insert  into  the  interstices 
of  the  pavement.  A  rough  plank,  nailed  transversely,  afforded  him 
a  leaning  place,  as  he  sat  for  hours  musing  and  meditating  in  the 
fragrant  atmosphere  of  his  plant.  He  was  happier  there  than  he 
had  ever  felt  on  his  silken  ottomans  of  former  days  ;  and  hour  after 
hour  would  he  sit  reflecting  on  his  wasted  youth,  which  had  elapsed 
without  the  attainment  of  a  single  real  pleasure,  or  genuine  affec- 
tion !  withering  away  in  the  midst  of  vain  chimeras  and  prema- 
ture satiety. 

Often,  after  such  retrospections,  Charney  found  himself  gradu- 
ally soothed  into  reveries  between  sleep  and  waking;  his  senses 
subdued  into  a  sort  of  apathetic  torpor,  his  imagination  excited  to 
'a  visionary  ecstacy,  perplexing  the  desolate  Count  with  scenes  of 
days  past  and  days  to  come. 

He  sometimes  fancied  himself  in  the  midst  of  those  brilliant 
fetes,  where,  though  himself  the  victim  of  ennui,  he  used  to  lavish 

*  Sir  James  Smiih  notices  this  property  iii  the  Antirrhinum  repens.  Flora 
Britannica-  vol.  ii.  p.  638. 


PICCIOLA.  53 

upon  others  all  the  pleasures  and  hixuries  of  life.  He  seemed  to 
stand  gazing,  some  night  of  the  Carnival,  beside  the  illuminated 
farade  of  his  hotel  in  the  Hue  de  Verneuil  ;  the  rolling  of  a  thou- 
sand carriages  vibrating  in  his  ear.  One  by  one,  they  entered,  by 
torchlight,  his  circular  courtyard,  depositing  successively  in  the 
vestibule,  covered  with  rich  carpets,  and  protected  by  silken  hang- 
ings, the  fashionable  belles  of  the  day,  enveloped  in  costly  furs, 
under  which  was  audible  the  rustling  of  satin  or  brocade;  the 
beaux  of  the  imperial  court,  with  their  high-crowned  hats,  cravats 
up  to  their  ears,  and  redundant  knee-strings;  artists  of  eminence, 
with  naked  throats,  Brutus-heads,  and  a  costume  half  French,  half 
Greek:  and  men  of  science  or  letters,  wearing  the  distinctive  aca- 
demic collar  of  green.  A  crowd  of  lacqueys  clustered  on  all  sides, 
insolently  defying,  under  their  new  liveries,  the  absolute  decrees 
of  the  once  puissant  conventional  republic  of  France. 

The  fancy  of  Charney  next  ascended  to  the  crowded  saloons  in 
which  were  assembled  all  that  was  illustrious  or  notorious  of  the 
capital.  The  toga  and  chlamyda  were  jumbled  together  with 
jackets,  or  frock-coats.  High-heeled  shoes,  with  rosettes,  trod  the 
same  floors  as  jockey-boots,  with  spur  on  heel,  nay,  even  with  the 
caliga  and  cothurnus.  Men  of  the  law,  the  pen,  the  sword,  mo- 
neyed men  and  moneyless,  artists  and  ministers  of  state,  all  were 
confounded  in  this  olla  podrida  of  the  Directory.  An  actor  stood 
hand  in  glove  with  an  ex-bishop,  a  ri-dcuaiit  peer  with  a  ci-devant 
pauper ;  aristocracy  and  democracy  were  united  like  twin  brothers ; 
wealthy  ignorance  paraded  itself  arm  in  arm  with  starving  erudi- 
tion. Such  was  the  regeneration  of  society,  rallying  round  a  com- 
mon centre  in  masses,  of  which  each  felt  itself  still  too  feeble  to 
stand  alone.  The  marshalling  of  the  crowd  was  deferred  to  some 
more  convenient  season  ;  there  would  be  a  time  for  that  hereafter ! 
Such  is  the  system  of  a  play-ground,  where  all  classes  of  a  school 
mingle  together  under  the  impulse  of  a  common  thirst  after  amuse- 
ment. As  the  boys  grow  older,  the  powerful  influence  of  the  spirit 
of  social  order  insensibly  estranges  them  from  unbecoming  com- 
panions, and  high  and  low  mechanically  range  themselves  under 
their  appointed  banners. 

With  a  silent  smile,  did  Charney  contemplate  this  phantasma- 
goric display  of  piebald  civilization.  That  which  had  once  excited 
the  bitter  sneers  of  the  man  of  the  world,  now  served  to  divert  him, 
as  the  memento  of  the  wasted  years  spent  by  his  native  country  in 
shallow,  theoretic  experiments,  exposing  it  to  the  contempt  of 
Europe. 

At  times,  brilliant  orchestres  appeared  to  strike  into  animating 

and  joyous  measures;   and  lo !  the  opening  of  the  l)all  ! — Charney 

fancied  he  could  recognise  the  favourite  airs  of  former  days,  but 

more  impressive  than  at  their  first  hearing.     The  lilittering  radi 

5* 


54  P  I  C  C  I  0  L  A  . 

ance  of  the  lustres,  their  prismatic  reflection  in  the  numerous  mir«- 
rors,  the  soft  and  perfumed  atmosphere  of  a  ball-room — the  aroma 
of  a  banquet — the  mirth  of  the  guests — the  wild  hilnrity  of  the 
waltzers,  who  rustled  against  him  in  the  mazy  round, — tlie  light 
and  frivolous  topics  wiiich  excited  their  merriment,  all  tended  to 
stimulate  him  to  a  degree  of  joyousness  such  as  the  reality  of  the 
dream  had  never  succeeded  in  producing. 

Women,  too, — ivory-shouldered,  slender-waisted,  swan-throated, 
— women,  arrayed  in  sumptuous  brocades,  gauzes  striped  with  gold, 
and  crems  of  sparkling  lustre,  thronged  around  him,  smiling  as  they 
returned  his  salutations.  One  by  one,  he  recognised  those  lovely 
beings;  the  grace  and  ornaments  of  his  entertainments,  when, 
opulent  and  free,  the  Count  de  Charney  was  cited  as  one  of  the 
favoured  ones  of  the  earth.  There  figured,  unrivalled,  the  majestic 
Tallien,  arrayed  in  the  classic  tunic  of  Greece,  and  covered  with 
gems  and  costly  rings,  even  to  the  toes  of  a  foot  from  which  might 
have  been  modelled  that  of  some  Venus  of  antiquity,  naked  but  for 
the  slight  concealment  of  a  golden  sandal;  the  fair  Recamier,  to 
whom  Athens  would  have  erected  altars;  and  Josephine,  ri-devant 
Countess  of  Beauharnois,  who,  by  dint  of  grace  and  affability,  often 
passed  for  the  fairest  of  these  three  graces  of  the  Consulate.  But 
even  by  the  side  of  these,  a  hundred  lovely  women  distinguished 
themselves,  by  their  beauty  or  their  elegance;  and  how  exquisite 
did  they  now  appear  in  the  dreaming  eyes  of  Charney  !  How  much 
fairer,  how  much  softer,  than  when  they  courted  his  smiles!  How 
gladly  had  he  ?iow  commanded  liberty  of  choice  among  so  many 
consummate  enchantresses ! 

Sometimes,  in  the  wildness  of  his  reveries,  he  flid  venture  on 
selection  ! — from  the  brilliant  crowd  he  singled  out  one, — undis- 
tinguished, however,  by  the  lustre  of  ivory  shoulders,  or  a  tiara  of 
diamonds.  Simple  in  attire  as  in  deportment,  his  beauty  lingered 
behind  the  rest,  with  downcast  eyes,  and  cheeks  suffused  with 
blushes;  a  girl,  a  young  girl,  arrayed  in  simple  white,  and  the  no 
less  spotless  array  of  perfect  innocence.  She  had  never  shone  in 
his  galas  of  other  times;  though  now  she  stood  out  prominent  on 
the  canvass,  while  all  others  vanished  into  shade.  At  last,  she 
seemed  alone;  and  Chirney  began  to  reconsider  her,  charm  by 
charm,  feature  by  feature.  His  feelings  were  gently  agitated  by 
the  lovely  vision.  But  how  much  more  when,  on  raising  his  eyes 
to  the  dark  braids  of  her  raven  hair,  he  beheld  a  flower  blooming 
there,  his  flower,  the  flower  of  Picciola  !  Involuntarily  he  extended 
his  arms  towards  the  beauteous  apparition,  when,  lo  !  all  grew  con- 
fused and  misty;  and  the  distant  music  of  the  orchestre  became 
once  more  audible,  as  the  fair  maiden  and  fair  flower  appeared  to 
melt  into  each  other.  The  fragrant  corolla,  expanding,  enclosed 
with  its  delicate  petals  the  loveliest  of  human  faces,  till  all  was 


P  I  C  C  I  ()  L  A  .  55 

hidden  from  his  view.  Instead  of  the  gorgeous  hangings  and 
gilded  walls  of  the  ball-room,  a  hovering  exhalation  presented 
itself  to  the  eyes  of  the  Count.  The  lustres  gradually  extinguished, 
vanished  in  the  distance,  emitting  a  feeble  arch  of  light  on  the 
outskirts  of  the  gathering  clouds.  Rude  pavement  replaced  the 
smooth  and  lustrous  floor;  stern  Reason  re-appeared  to  take  pos- 
session of  her  throne;  and  the  gracious  illusions  of  fancy  expired 
at  her  approach.  A  touch  of  the  fatal  wand  of  Truth  dispelled  at 
once  the  dream  of  the  captive. 

Charney  woke  to  find  himself  musing  on  his  rustic  bench,  his 
feet  resting  on  the  stones  of  the  court-yard,  and  the  daylight  fading 
over  his  head.  But  Picciola, — thanks  be  to  Heaven,  Picciola  is 
still  before  him ! 

The  first  time  the  Count  became  conscious  of  this  species  of 
vertigo,  he  noticed  that  it  was  only  when  meditating  in  the  atmo- 
sphere of  his  plant  that  such  gentle  visions  descended  upon  his 
mind.  He  recollected  that  the  emanations  of  certain  flowers  are 
of  so  intoxicating  a  nature  as  even  to  produce  asphyxia.  It  was, 
therefore,  under  the  influence  of  his  favourite,  that  these  delicious 
dreams  visited  his  imagination;  and  for  his  f  te — his  houris — his 
banquets — his  music — he  was  still  indebted  to  Picciola. 

But  the  fair  girl — the  modest,  gentle  girl  by  whose  image  he  had 
been  so  powerfully  impressed — from  whence  has  he  derived  her 
image?  Did  he  ever  behold  her  among  the  haunts  of  men?  Is 
she,  like  the  other  divinities  of  his  dream,  the  creature  of  reminis- 
cence? .Memory  had  nothing  to  reply  !  The  past  afforded  no  pro- 
totype for  her  chirms!  But  the  future; — if  the  vision  his  fancy 
has  created  should  be  the  creature  of  anticipatii)!!,  of  presentiment 
rather  than  of  recollection?  alas!  of  what  avail  anticipations — of 
what  avail  revelations  of  the  future  to  the  unfortunate  Charney! 
In  a  sentence  of  imprisonment  for  life,  the  destinies  of  the  captive 
are  accomplished. 

All  human  hope,  therefore,  must  be  laid  aside.  The  young  girl 
of  blooming  blushes,  and  draperies  of  virgin  white,  shall  be  the 
Picciola  of  his  imagination; — Picciola  in  the  poetical  personifica- 
tion of  a  dream; — his  idol,  his  love,  his  bride.  The  sweet  coun- 
tenance and  graceful  form  revealed  to  him,  shall  image  forth  the 
guardian  spirit  of  his  plant:  with  that,  his  reveries  shall  be  bright 
ened,  and  the  aching  void  in  his  heart  and  soul  filled  up  for  ever! 
She  shall  dwell  with  him,  muse  with  him,  sit  by  his  side,  accom- 
pany his  lonely  walks,  reply  to  him,  smile  upon  him,  enchant  him 
with  her  ethereal  h)ve !  iShe  shall  share  his  existence,  his  breath, 
his  heart,  his  soul.  He  will  converse  with  her  in  tho  ight,  and 
close  his  eyes  to  gaze  upon  her  beauty  !  Tiiey  shall  form  but  one, 
in  order  that  he  may  be  alone  no  longer. 

These  emotions  superseded  the  graver  studies  of  the  prisoner 


56  P  I  C  C  I  O  L  A  . 

of  Fenestrella,  the  enjoyments  of  the  heart  succeeding  to  those  of 
ihe  mind.  Charney  now  gave  himself  up  to  all  that  poetry  of  ex- 
istence, from  whose  sphere  the  soul  returns  laden  with  perfumes, 
as  the  bee,  after  extracting  from  the  breast  of  the  flower  a  harvest 
of  honey.  There  was  a  life  of  daily  hardship  and  captivity  to  be 
endured ;  there  was  a  life  of  love  and  ecstacy  to  be  enjoyed ;  and 
united,  though  apart,  they  completed  the  measure  of  existence  of 
the  once  envied,  but  most  unhappy  Count  de  Charney.  His  time 
was  shared  between  Picciola,  his  mortal  flower — and  Picciola,  his 
immortal  love:  to  reason,  or  rather  reasoning,  succeeded  happi- 
ness and  love ! 


CHAPTER    X. 

Induced  at  length  to  renew  his  experimental  inquiries  into  the 
process  of  inflorescence,  Charney  became  enchanted  by  the  pro- 
digious and  immutable  congruities  of  Nature.  For  some  time, 
indeed,  his  eyes  were  baffled  by  the  infinite  minuteness  of  the  phe- 
nomena to  which  his  attention  was  directed;  when,  just  as  his 
patience  became  exhausted  by  his  own  incapacity,  Ludovico  con- 
veyed to  him,  from  his  neighbour  the  fly-catcher,  a  mien  scopic 
lens,  with  which  Girardi  had  been  enabled  to  number  eight  thou- 
sand oculary  facets  on  the  cornea  of  a  fly's  eye. 

Charney  was  transported  with  joy  at  the  acquisition  !  —  The 
most  occult  portion  of  the  flower  now  became  manifested  for  his 
investigation;  and  already  he  fancied  himself  advancing  with 
gigantic  strides  in  the  path  of  science.  Having  carefully  analyzed 
the  texture  of  his  flower,  he  convinced  himself  that  the  brilliant 
colours  of  the  petal,  their  form,  their  crimson  spots,  the  bands  of 
velvet  or  satin  which  adorn  their  bases  or  fringe  their  extremities, 
are  not  intended  for  the  mere  gratification  of  the  eye ;  hut  for  the 
purpose  of  reflecting,  attracting,  or  modifying  the  rays  of  the  sun, 
according  to  the  necessities  of  the  flower  during  the  grand  process 
of  fructification.  The  polished  crowns  or  studs  of  the  calyx, 
lustrous  like  porcelain,  are  doubtless  glandular  masses  for  the 
absorption  of  the  air,  light,  and  moisture,  indispensable  to  the 
formation  of  the  seed  :  for  without  light,  no  colour, — without  air 
and  moisture,  no  vitality.  Moisture,  light,  and  heat,  are  the  ele- 
ments of  vegetable  life,  which,  on  its  e.xtinction,  it  bequeaths  in 
restitution  to  the  universe. 

Unknown  to  Charney,  his  reveries  and  studies  had  attracted 
two  deeply  interested  spectators;  Girardi  and  his  daughter.  Thp 
latter,  educated  in  habits  of  piety  and  seclusion,  by  a  father  im- 


P  I  C  C  1  O  L  A  .  57 

bued  with  reverenliul  religious  sentiments,  was  olessed  with  one 
of  those  etlK  real  natures,  in  which  every  good  and  holy  interest 
seems  united.  'JMie  heauty  and  excellence  of  Teresa  Girardi,  the 
graces  of  her  person  and  mind,  had  not  filled  to  attract  admirers; 
and  her  deep  and  expansive  sensibility  seemed  to  announce  a  pre- 
disposition for  human  aliections.  But  if  a  vague  preference  had 
occasionally  influenced  her  feelings  amid  the  fetes  of  Turin,  every 
impulse  of  her  gentle  heart  was  now  concentrated  into  grief  for 
the  captivity  of  her  father. 

Her  soul  was  humbled, — her  spirits  subdued.  Two  only  objects 
predominated  in  her  heart :  her  father  in  prison, — her  Saviour  on 
the  cross;  despair  on  earth,  but  trust  in  immortality.  Not  that 
the  fair  daughter  of  Italy  was  of  a  melancholy  mind.  Her  duties 
were  easy  to  her,  her  sacrifices  a  delight;  and  where  tears  were 
to  be  dried  or  smiles  awaked,  there  was  the  place  of  Teresa: 
hitherto,  she  had  accomplished  this  task  towards  her  father  only; 
but  from  the  moment  of  beholding  Charney,  his  air  of  depression 
excited  a  two-fold  compassion  in  her  bosom.  A  captive  like  her 
father,  and  with  her  father,  a  mysterious  analogy  seemed  to  unite 
their  destinies.  But  the  Count  is  even  more  deserving  pity  than 
her  fither.  'J'he  Count  had  no  earthly  solace  remaining  but  a 
poor  plant;  and  with  what  tenderness  does  he  cultivate  this  last 
remiiining  affection  !  The  noble  countenance  and  fine  pt<rson  of 
the  prisoner  might,  perhaps,  unsuspected  by  Teresa,  tend  to 
enhance  her  compassion ;  but  had  she  become  acquainted  with 
him  in  his  days  of  splendour,  when  surrounded  by  the  deceptious 
attributes  of  happiness,  these  would  never  hav,^  sulficed  to  distin- 
guish him  in  her  eyes.  His  isolation, —  his  abandonment, —  his 
calamity, — his  resignation,  have  alone  attracted  her  interest,  and 
prompted  the  gift  of  her  tenderness  and  esteem.  In  her  ignorance 
of  men  and  things,  Teresa  is  induced  to  include  misli)rtune  in  he*^ 
catalogue  of  virtues. 

As  bold  in  pursuance  of  a  good  action,  as  timid  in  personal 
deportment,  she  often  directed  towards  Charney  the  good  olfices 
of  her  father;  and  one  day  when  Girardi  advanced  to  the  window, 
instead  of  contenting  himself,  as  usual,  with  a  salutation  of  the 
hand,  he  motioned  to  the  Count  to  draw  as  near  as  po.ssible  to  the 
window ;  and,  having  moderated  his  voice  to  the  lowest  pitch, 
whispered — 

"  I  have  good  news  for  you." 

"  And  I  my  thanks  to  return,"  replied  Charney,  "  for  the  micro- 
scope you  have  been  kind  enough  to  send  me." 

'*  It  is  rather  to  my  daughter  your  thanks  are  due,"  replied 
Girardi.     "  It  was  Teresa  who  suggested  the  offer." 

"  You  have  a  daughter ;  and  are  you  allowed  the  happiness  of 
seeing  her?"  demanded  the  Count,  with  interest. 


58  Pi  CCIOL  A. 

"  I  am  indeed  so  fortunate,"  replied  the  old  man;  "  and  return 
daily  thanks  to  Heaven  for  having  bestowed  on  me  an  angel  in  my 
child.  During  your  illness,  sir,  none  were  more  deeply  interested 
in  your  welfare  than  my  Teresa.  Have  you  never  noticed  her  at 
the  grating,  watching  the  care  you  devote  to  your  flower  !" 

"  I  have  some  idea  that " 

"But,  in  talking  of  my  girl,"  interrupted  the  old  man,  "I 
neglect  to  acquaint  you  with  important  news.  The  Emperor  is 
on  his  way  to  Milan,  for  his  coronation  as  King  of  Italy." 

"  King  of  Italy  !"  reiterated  Charney.  "  Doubtless,  then,  alas  ! 
to  be  our  master.  As  to  the  microscope,"  continued  the  Count, 
who  cared  less  for  king  or  kaiser  than  for  his  ruling  passion,  "  I 
liave  dexained  it  too  long:  you  may  be  in  want  of  it.  Yet,  as  my 
experiments  are  still  incomplete,  perhaps  you  will  permit " 

"  Keep  it,"  interrupted  the  fly-catcher  with  a  beneficent  smile, 
perceiving,  by  the  intonation  of  Charney's  voice,  with  what  regret 
ho  vvas  about  to  resign  the  solace  of  his  solitude,  "  keep  it  in  re- 
membrance of  a  companion  in  misfortune,  who  entertains  a  lively 
interest  in  your  welfare." 

Charney  would  have  expressed  his  gratitude;  but  his  generous 
friend  refused  all  thanks.  "  Let  me  finish  what  I  have  to  com- 
municate, ere  we  are  interrupted,"  said  he.  Then,  lowering  his 
voice  again,  he  added,  "  It  is  rumoured  that  a  certain  number  of 
prisoners  will  be  released,  and  criminals  pardoned,  in  honour  of 
the  coronation.  Have  yon  friends,  sir,  in  Turin  or  Milan  !  Are 
there  any  to  intercede  *ur  you  ?" 

The  Count  repliej  by  a  mournful  negative  movement  of  the 
head.     "  I  have  not  a  friend  in  the  world  !"  was  his  reply. 

"  Not  a  friend  !"  exclaimed  the  old  man,  with  a  look  of  pro- 
found pity.  "  Have  you,  then,  exhibited  mistrust  of  your  fellow- 
creatures? — for  friendship  is  unpropitious  only  to  those  who  with- 
hold their  faith.  I,  Heaven  be  thanked,  have  friends  in  abundance, 
—  good  and  faithful  friends, — who  might,  perhaps,  be  more  sue 
cessful  in  j/our  behalf  than  they  have  been  in  mine." 

"  I  have  nothing  to  ask  of  General  Bonaparte,"  said  Charney, 
in  a  harsh  tone,  characteristic  of  all  his  former  animosities. 

"  Hush!  speak  lower!  I  hear  footsteps,"  said  Girardi. 

There  was  an  interval  of  silence;  after  which  the  Italian  re- 
sumed, in  a  tone  which  softened,  by  almost  paternal  tenderness, 
the  rebuke  which  it  conveyed. 

"  Your  feelings  are  still  imbittered,  my  dear  companion  in  ad- 
versity. Surely  your  study  of  the  works  of  Nature  ought  to  have 
subdued  a  hatred  which  is  opposed  to  all  the  commandments  of 
God,  and  all  the  chances  of  human  happiness!  Has  not  the 
fragrance  of  your  flower  poured  balm  into  your  wounds?  The 
Bonaparte,  of  whom  you  spe.ik  ?;o  vindictively,  surely  I  have  more 


P  I  C  C  I  O  L  A .  59 

cause  to  hate  him  than  yourself!    My  only  son  perished  under  his 

banner  of  usurpation." 

"  True !  And  did  you  not  seek  to  avenge  his  death?" 

"  The  false  rumour,  then,  has  reached  you,"  said  the  old  man, 
raising  his  head  with  dignity  towards  heaven,  as  if  in  appeal  to 
the  testimony  of  the  Almighly.  "/revenge  myself  by  a  deed  of 
blood!  No,  sir!  no!  My  utmost  crime  consisted  in  the  despair 
which  prompted  me,  when  all  Turin  saluted  tlie  victor  with  accla- 
mations, to  oppose  to  them  the  cries  of  my  parental  anguish.  I 
was  arrested  on  the  spot ;  a  knife  was  found  on  my  person,  and  1 
was  branded  with  the  name  of  assassin ;  /,  an  agonized  father, 
who  had  just  learned  the  loss  of  an  only  son." 

"  Infamous  injustice  !  infamous  tyranny  !"  cried  the  Count,  with 
indignation. 

"Nay,"  remonstrated  Girardi,  "I  thank  Heaven  I  am  able  to 
perceive  that  Bonaparte  may  have  been  deceived  by  appearances. 
His  character  is  neither  v.'icked  nor  cruel;  or  what  was  there  to 
prevent  him  from  putting  us  both  to  death  1  By  restoring  me  to 
liberty,  he  would  only  atone  an  error;  nevertheless,  I  should  bless 
him  as  a  benefactor.  I  find  captivity,  however,  by  no  means  in- 
supportable. Full  of  trust  in  the  mercy  of  Providence,  I  resign 
myself  to  (he  event;  but  the  sight  of  my  imprisonment  afflicts  my 
daughter;  and  for  her  sake  I  desire  my  liberation.  I  would  fain 
shorten  her  exile  from  the  world,  her  alienation  from  the  pleasures 
of  her  age.  Say!  —  have  you  no  human  being  who  sorrows  over 
your  misfortunes?  —  no  woman  who  weeps  for  you  in  secret,  to 
whom  you  would  sacrifice  even  your  pride,  as  an  oppressed  and 
injured  man?  Come,  come,  my  dear  brother  in  adversity!  author- 
ize my  friends  to  include  your  name  in  their  petitions!" 

Charney  answered  with  a  smile,  —  "No  woman  weeps  for  me! 
no  one  sighs  for  my  return :  for  I  have  no  longer  gold  to  purchase 
their  affection.  What  is  there  to  allure  me  anew  into  the  world, 
where  I  was  even  less  happy  than  at  Fenestrolla?  But  even  were 
troops  of  friends  awaiting  me,  —  had  I  still  wealth,  honour,  and 
happiness  in  store, — I  would  refuse  the  gift  of  freedom  from  that 
hand,  whose  power  and  usurpations  1  devoted  myself  to  over- 
throw." 

"  You  deny  yourself  even  the  enjoyment  ot  hope  ?"  said 
Girardi. 

"Never  will  I  bestow  the  title  of  emperor  on  one,  who  is  either 
my  equal  or  my  inferior." 

"  Beware  of  sacrificing  yourself  to  a  sentiment,  the  offspring 
of  vanity  rather  than  of  patriotism  !"  cried  Girardi.  "  But  peace! 
silence!"  said  he,  more  cautiously.  "Some  one  approaches  in 
earnest.  Addio,  away !"  And  the  venerable  Italian  disappeared 
from  the  grated  window. 


60  F  I  C  C  I  O  L  A  . 

"  Thanks  ! — a  thousand  thanks  for  the  microscope  !"  was  Char- 
ney's  last  exclamation,  as  Girardi  vanished  from  his  view.  And 
at  that  moment  the  door  of  the  court-yard  creaked  on  its  hinges, 
and  Ludovico  made  his  appearance  with  tlie  basket  of  provisions, 
forming  the  daily  allowance  of  his  prisoner.  Observing  the  Count 
to  be  sdent  and  absent,  the  gaoler  accosted  him  only  by  rattling 
the  plates,  as  he  went  by,  as  a  signal  that  his  dinner  was  ready. 
Then,  having  ascended  to  place  all  in  order  in  the  little  chamber, 
amused  himself,  as  he  re-crossed  the  court,  with  making  a  silent 
obeisance  to  the  Signer  and  Signora,  as  he  was  now  in  the  habit 
of  qualifying  the  Count  de  Charney,  and  his  plant. 

"The  microscope  is  mine!"  mused  Charney,  when  he  found 
himself  alone.  "  But  how  have  I  merited  such  kind  consideration 
on  the  part  of  a  stranger?  Ludovico,  too,  has  become  my  friend. 
Under  the  rough  exterior  of  the  gaoler,  beats  a  kind  and  noble 
heart.  There  exist,  then,  after  all,  virtuous  and  warm-hearted 
men.     But  where  !     In  a  prison!'' 

"  Be  thankful  to  adversity,"  remonstrated  conscience,  "  which 
has  made  you  capable  of  appreciating  a  benefit  received.  To  what 
amounts  the  generosity  of  these  two  men  ?  One  of  them  watered 
your  plant  for  you  in  secret;  the  other  has  conferred  on  you  the 
means  of  analyzing  its  organization." 

"  In  the  smallest  services  consists  the  truest  generosity,"  argued 
Charney,  in  reply. 

"  True,"  resumed  the  voice,  "  when  such  services  are  dedicated 
to  your  own  convenience.  Had  Picciola  never  sprung  to  life,  these 
two  beings  would  have  remained  in  your  eyes, — the  one  a  doting 
old  man,  engrossed  by  puerile  pursuits;  the  other,  a  gross  and 
sordid  clod,  absorbed  by  the  love  of  gain.  In  your  world  of  other 
days,  Sir  Count,  to  what,  pray,  did  i/ou  attach  yourself?  To  nothing. 
Your  soul  recoiled  upon  itself,  and  no  man  cared  for  you.  By  love 
comes  love.  It  is  your  attachment  to  Picciola  which  has  obtained 
you  the  affection  of  your  companions.  Picciola  is  the  talisman  by 
which  you  have  attracted  their  regard." 

Charney  interrupted  this  mono-dialogue  by  a  glance  from  the 
microscope  towards  Picciola.  He  has  already  forgotten  the  an- 
nouncement of  "Napoleon,  Emperor  of  the  French,  and  King  of 
Italy  !" — one  half  of  which  formerly  sufficed  to  convert  him  into  a 
conspirator  and  a  captive.  How  unimportant  in  his  eyes,  now, 
those  honours  conferred  by  nations,  and  based  upon  the  liberties 
of  Europe!  An  insect  hovering  over  his  plant,  threatening  mis- 
chief to  its  delicate  vegetation,  seems  more  alarming  than  the 
impending  destruction  of  the  balance  of  power,  by  the  conquests 
of  a  new  Alexander. 


F  I  C  C  I  0  L  A  .  61 


CHAPTER    XI. 

Ahmed  with  his  glass,  Charney  now  extended  his  field  of  bota- 
nical discovery;  and,  at  every  step,  his  enthusiasm  increased.  It 
must  be  owned,  however,  that  inexperienced  as  he  was  in  the  me- 
thod of  scientific  inquiry,  devoid  of  first  principles  and  appropriate 
instruments,  he  often  found  himself  defeated ;  and  the  spirit  of 
paradox  became  insensibly  roused  to  existence  by  the  cavilling  tem- 
per of  his  mind. 

He  invented  half  a  hundred  theories  on  the  circulation  of  the 
sap;  on  the  coloration  of  the  various  parts  of  the  flower;  on  the 
secretion  of  different  kinds  of  aroma  by  different  organs  of  the 
stem,  the  leaves,  the  flowers;  on  the  nature  of  the  gum  and  resin 
emitted  by  vegetables,  and  the  wax  and  honey  extracted  by  bees 
from  the  nectary.  At  first,  ready  answers  suggested  themselves  to 
all  his  inquiries;  but  new  systems  arose,  to  confute  on  the  m.irrow 
those  of  the  preceding  day.  Nay,  Charney  seemed  to  take  delight 
in  the  impotence  of  his  own  judgment,  as  if  affording  wider  scope 
to  the  efforts  of  his  imagination,  and  an  indefinite  term  to  the  du- 
ration of  his  experiments  and  inferences. 

A  day  of  joy  and  triumph  for  the  enthusiast  was  now  approach- 
ing! He  had  formerly  heard,  and  heard  with  a  smile  of  incredu- 
lity, allusion  to  the  loves  of  plants,  and  the  sublime  discoveries  of 
LiimsBus  concerning  vegetable  generation.  It  was  now  his  pleasing 
task  to  watch  the  gradual  accomplishment  of  maternity  in  Picciola ; 
and  when,  with  his  glass  fixed  on  the  stamens  and  pistils  of  the 
flower,  he  beheld  them  suddenly  endowed  with  sensibility  and  ac- 
tion, the  mind  of  the  sceptic  became  paralyzed  with  wonder  and 
admiration!  By  analogical  comparison,  his  perceptions  rose  till 
they  embraced  the  vast  scale  of  the  vegetable  and  animal  creation. 
He  recognised  with  a  glance  the  mightiness,  the  immensity,  the 
harmony  of  the  whole.  The  mysteries  of  the  universe  seemed  sud- 
denly developed  before  him.  His  eyes  grew  dim  with  emotion, — 
the  microscope  escaped  his  hand.  The  atheist  sinks  back  over- 
'lowered  on  his  rustic  bench,  and  after  nearly  an  hour  of  profound 
meditation,  the  following  apostrophe  burst  from  the  lips  of  Char- 
ney : — 

"  Picciola r^  said  he,  in  a  tone  of  deep  emotion, — "I  had  once 
the  whole  earth  for   my  wanderings, — I  was  surrounded  by  those 
who  called  themselves  my  friends — by  men  of  letters  and  science 
and  not  one  of  the  learned  ever  bestowed  upon  me  as  much  instrnc  . 


G2  F  I  C  C  I  O  L  A  , 

tion  as  I  have  received  from  thee! — not  one  of  the  friendly  ever 
rendered  ine  such  good  offices  as  thine !  In  this  miserahle  court- 
yard, between  the  stones  of  whose  rugged  pavement  thou  hast 
sprung  to  life,  I  have  reflected  more,  and  experienced  more  pro- 
found emotions,  than  while  traversing  in  freedom  all  the  countries 
of  Europe!  Blind  mortal  that  I  have  been  ! — When  first  I  beheld 
thee,  pale,  feeble,  puny,  I  looked  on  thee  with  contempt!  And  it 
was  a  companion  that  was  vouchsafed  to  me — a  book  that  was 
opened  for  my  instruction — a  world  that  was  revealing  Itself  to  my 
wondering  eyes!  The  companion  solaces  my  daily  cares — attach- 
ing me  to  the  existence  restored  me  by  her  aid,  and  reconciling 
me  with  mankind,  whom  I  had  unfairly  condemned.  The  book 
teaches  me  to  despise  all  works  of  human  invention,  convicting  my 
ignorance,  and  rebuking  my  pride ; — instructing  me  that  science, 
like  virtue,  is  to  be  acquired  through  lowliness  of  mind.  Inscribed 
in  the  living  characters  of  a  tongue  so  long  unknown  to  me,  it  con- 
tains a  thousand  enigmas,  of  which  every  solution  is  a  word  of 
hope.  The  world  is  the  region  of  the  soul — the  abstract  and  cri- 
terion of  celestial  and  eternal  nature  : — the  revelation  of  the  organic 
law  of  love,  from  which  results  the  order  of  the  universe,  the  gravi- 
tation of  atoms,  the  attraction  of  suns,  and  the  electric  union  of  all 
created  things,  from  the  highest  star  to  the  hyssop  on  the  wall — 
from  the  crawling  insect  to  man,  who  walks  the  earth  with  his 
brows  elevated  towards  heaven — perhaps  in  search  of  the  omnipo- 
tent Autho^  of  his  being!" 

The  breast  of  Charhey  swelled  with  irrepressible  emotion  as 
he  spoke.  Thought  succeeded  thought  in  his  brain;  feeling  after 
feeling  arose  in  his  heart;  —  till,  starting  from  his  seat,  he  began 
to  traverse  the  court  with  hurried  footsteps.  At  length,  his  agita- 
tion exhausted,  he  returned  towards  his  Picciola,  gazed  upon  her 
with  ineffable  tenderness,  raised  his  eyes  to  heaven,  and  faintly 
articulated, — "  Oh  !  mighty  and  unseen  God  ! — the  clouds  of  learn- 
ing have  too  much  confused  my  understanding,  —  the  sophistries 
of  human  reason  too  much  hardened  my  heart,  for  thy  divine 
truths  to  penetrate  at  once  into  my  understanding.  In  my  un- 
worthiness  to  comprehend  thy  glorious  revelations,  I  can  yet  only 
call  upon  thy  name,  and  humbly  seek  thy  infinite,  but  invisible 
protection." 

And  with  grave  demeanour,  Charney  retraced  his  steps  to  his 
chamber ;  where  the  first  sentence  that  met  his  eyes,  inscribed 
with  his  own  hand  upon  the  wall,  was — 

"  God  is  but  a  word  !" 

In  another  moment  he  had  superadded  to  the  inscription, — "  a 
word,  which  serves  perhaps  to  solve  the  great  enigma  of  crea- 
tion !" 

"Perhaps    — the  master  word  of  doubts,  still    disfigured    the 


1'  I  C  G  I  (J  L  A .  Qli 

phrase!  —  But  it  was  something  for  the  arrogant  Cnarnev  to  have 
arrived  at  doubt,  from  the  extreme  of  absolute  negation.  He  was 
recoiling  in  the  path  of  falseiiood  he  had  so  long  pursued.  He  no 
longer  pretended  to  rely  for  support  upon  his  own  strength, —  his 
own  faculties.  He  is  willing  now  to  learn,  eager  to  perpetuate  the 
soft  emotions  by  which  his  pride  has  been  subdued,  and  it  is  still 
to  the  insignificant  Picciola  he  turns  for  instruction, — for  a  creed, 
— a  God, — an  immortality. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

Thus  passed  the  days  of  the  prisoner ;  and  after  whole  hours 
devoted  to  inquiry  and  analysis,  Charney  loved  to  turn  from  the 
weariness  of  his  studies  to  the  brightness  of  his  illusions, —  from 
Picciola  the  blooming  plant,  to  Picciola  the  blooming  girl.  When- 
ever the  awakening  perfumes  of  his  flower  ascended  to  his  cham- 
ber, oppressing  his  senses,  and  creating  misty  confusion  before  his 
eyes,  he  used  to  exclaim,  "  To-night  Picciola  will  hold  her  court; 
I  must  hasten  to  Picciola." 

Thus  predisposed  to  reverie,  his  mind  was  promptly  attuned 
into  the  sort  of  doze,  in  which,  during  the  absence  of  reason, 
"  mimic  fancy  wakes."  Oh  !  were  it  not,  indeed,  a  dearer  enjoy- 
ment than  any  yet  vouchsafed  to  human  nature,  if  man  could  so 
far  acquire  authority  over  his  dreams,  as  to  live  at  will  that 
secondary  life  where  events  succeed  each  other  with  such  rapidity  ; 
where  centuries  cost  us  but  one  breathing  hour  ;  where  a  magic 
halo  environs  all  the  actors  of  the  drama,  and  where  nothing  is 
rea  but  the  emotions  of  our  thrilling  hearts?  Would  you  have 
music?  Harmonious  concerts  might  arise  in  spontaneous  unison, 
unprefaced  by  discordant  tuning,  the  anxious  looks  of  the  musi- 
cians, or  the  ungraceful  and  quaint  forms  of  their  instruments. 
Such  is  the  world  of  dreams  !  Pleasure  without  repentance;  the 
rainbow  without  the  storm  ! 

To  such  illusions  did  Charney  resign  himself!  Faithful  to  the 
gentle  image  of  his  Picciola,  it  was  to  her  he  invariably  appealed; 
and  the  vision  came  at  his  call,  simple,  modest,  and  beautiful,  as 
at  its  first  advent.  Sometimes  he  surrounded  her  with  the  com- 
panions of  his  early  studies;  sometimes,  united  with  his  mother 
and  sister,  his  imaginary  love  served  to  create  around  him  ihpt 
domestic  happiness  of  his  youth.  Sometimes  she  seemed  to  in- 
troduce him  into  a  dwelling  cheered  by  competence,  and  adorned 
with  elegance,  where  pleasures  hitherto  unknown,  came  wooina 
his  enjoyment.      After  evoking  the  joys  of  memory  and  calling  up 


64 


P  I  C  C  I  O  L  A , 


reminiscences  of  the  past,  she  gave  existence  to  hope,  to  ties  un- 
dreamed of,  and  joys  unknown.  Mysterious  influence !  Whore 
was  he  to  find  the  solution  of  the  mystery?  With  the  view  of 
future  comparison,  the  Count  actually  began  to  record  on  his  cam- 
bric pages  the  wild  illusions  of  his  dreams  ! 

One  evening,  in  the  midst  of  a  flight  of  fancy,  Picciola  for  the 
first  time  dispelled  the  charm  of  happiness  and  serenity,  by  the 
exercise  of  a  sinister  influence!  At  a  later  moment  he  recurred 
to  the  event  as  the  eflfect  of  a  fatal  presentiment ! 


It  was  just  as  the  fragrance  of  the  plant  indicated  the  sixth  hour 
of  evening,  and  Charney  was  musing  at  his  accustomed  post. 
Never  had  that  aromatic  vapour  exercised  its  powers  more 
potently  :  for  more  than  thirty  fiill-blown  flowers  were  emitting  the 
magnetic  atmosphere,  so  influential  over  the  senses  of  the  Count. 
He  fancied  himself  surrounded  once  more  by  the  crowds  of 
society  ;  having  drawn  aside  from  which,  towards  an  esplanade  of 
verdure,  his  beloved  Picciola  deigned  to  follow  his  footsteps.  The 
graceful  phantom  advanced  smiling  towards  him  ;  and  Charney, 
in  a  musing  attitude,  stood  admiring  the  supple  grace  of  the  young 
girl,  around  whose  well-turned  form  the  drapery  of  her  snow-white 
dress  played  in  harmonious  folds,  and  her  raven  tresses,  amid 
which  bloomed  the  never  absent  flower  !  On  a  sudden  he  saw  her 
start,  stagger,  and  extend  her  arms  towards  him.    He  tried  to  rush 


P  I  C  C  I  O  L  A  .  05 

towards  her;  but  an  insurmountable  obstacle  seemed  to  separate 
him  from  her  side.  A  cry  of  horror  instantly  escaped  his  lips, 
and  lo !  the  vision  disappears!  He  wakes,  but  it  is  to  hear  a 
second  cry,  respondent  to  his  own ;  yes,  the  cry,  the  voice  of  a 
female ! 

Nevertheless,  the  Count  is  still  in  his  usual  place  —  in  the  old 
court,  and  reclining  on  the  rustic  bench  beside  his  Picciola!  But 
at  the  grating  of  the  little  window,  appeared  the  momentary  glimpse 
of  a  female  form  !  A  soft  and  melancholy  countenance,  half  hid 
in  shade,  seems  gazing  upon  him;  but  when,  rising  from  his  seat, 
he  hastens  towards  it,  the  vision  vanishes,  or  rather  the  young  girl 
hastens  from  the  window.  However  swift  her  disappearance, 
Charney  was  able  to  distinguish  her  features,  her  hair,  her  form, 
the  whiteness  of  her  robe.  He  paused.  Is  he  asleep  or  waking? 
Can  it  be  that  the  insurmountable  obstacle  which  divides  him  from 
Picciola  is  no  other  than  the  grating  of  a  prison  ? 

At  that  moment,  Ludovico  hastens  towards  him  with  an  air  of 
consternation. 

"Are  you  again  \nd\sposed,  Signor  Conte?'"  cried  the  gaoler. 
"  Have  you  had  another  attack  of  your  old  disorder?  Trondidio ! 
If  we  are  obliged,  for  form's  sake,  to  send  for  the  prison  doctor, 
I'll  take  care,  this  time,  that  no  one  but  Madame  Picciola  and 
myself  have  a  hand  in  the  cure!" 

"  I  am  perfectly  well,"  replied  Charney,  trying  to-  recove»  his 
composure.    "  What  put  it  into  your  head  that  I  was  indisposed?" 

"  The  fly-catcher's  daughter  came  in  search  of  me.  She  saw 
you  stagger,  and  hearing  you  cry  aloud,  fancied  you  were  in  need 
of  assistance." 

The  Count  relapsed  into  a  fit  of  musing.  It  seemed  to  occur 
to  him,  for  the  first  time,  that  a  young  girl  occasionally  inhabited 
that  part  of  the  prison. 

"  1  he  resemblance  I  fancied  I  could  discover  between  the 
stranger  and  Picciola,  is  doubtless  a  new  deJusion  !"  said  he  to 
himself  And  he  now  recalled  to  mind  Teresa's  interest  in  his 
favour,  mentioned  to  him  by  the  venerable  Girardi.  The  young 
Piedmontese  had  compassionated  his  condition  during  his  illness. 
To  her  he  is  indebted  for  the  possession  of  his  microscope.  His 
heart  becomes  suddenly  touched  with  gratitude,  and  in  the  first 
effusion,  a  sudden  remark  seems  to  sever  the  double  image,  the 
young  girl  of  his  dreams,  from  the  young  girl  of  his  waking  hours ; 
"  Girardi's  daughter  wore  no  flower  in  her  hair." 

That  moment,  but  not  without  hesitation,  not  without  self-re- 
proach, he  plucked  with  a  trembling  hand  from  his  plant  a  small 
branch  covered  with  blossoms. 

"  Formerly,"  thought  Charney,  "  what  sums  of  money  did  I 
lavish  to  adorn,  with  gold  and  gems,  brows  devoted  to  perjury  and 
6* 


66  P  I  C  C  I  O  L  A . 

shame  1  upon  liow  many  abandoned  women  and  heartless  men  did 
1  tlirow  away  my  fortune,  without  caring  more  for  them  than  for 
the  feelings  of  uiy  own  bosom,  which,  at  the  same  moment,  1 
placed  in  the  dust  under  their  feet.  Oh  !  if  a  gift  derives  its  value 
from  the  regard  in  which  it  is  held  by  the  donor,  never  was  a 
richer  token  offered  by  man  to  woman,  my  Picciola,  than  these 
flowers  which  I  borrow  from  thy  precious  branches  to  bestow  on 
the  daughter  of  Girardi !" 

Then,  placing  the  blossomed  bough  in  the  hands  of  the  gaoler, 
''  Present  these  in  my  name  to  the  daughter  of  my  venerable  neigh- 
bour, good  Ludcvico!"  said  he.  "Thank  her  for  the  generous 
interest  she  vouchsafes  me ;  and  tell  her  that  the  Count  de  Char- 
ney,  poor,  and  a  prisoner,  has  nothing  to  offer  her  more  worthy 
her  acceptance." 

Ludovico  received  the  token  with  an  air  of  stupefaction.  He 
had  begun  to  enter  so  completely  into  the  passion  of  the  captive 
for  his  plant,  that  he  could  not  conjecture  by  what  services  the 
daughter  of  the  fly-catcher  had  merited  so  distinguished  a  mark 
of  munificence. 

"  No  matter  !  Capo  cli  San  Pasquali !"  exclaimed  Ludovico,  as 
he  passed  the  postern.  "  They  have  long  admired  my  god-daughter 
at  a  distance.  Let  us  see  what  they  will  say  to  the  brightness 
of  her  complexion,  and  sweetness  of  her  breath,  on  a  nearer  ac- 
quaintance, Piccioletta  inia,  andiamo  !" 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

Many  sacrifices  of  a  similar  kind,  however,  were  now  required 
of  Charney.  The  epoch  of  fructification  is  arrived.  The  bril- 
liant petals  of  many  of  the  flowers  have  fallen,  and  their  stamens 
become  useless :  decaying,  like  the  cotyledons,  after  the  first 
leaves  had  attained  maturity.  The  ovary  containing  the  germ  of 
the  seeds  begins  to  enlarge  within  the  calyx.  The  fertile  flowers 
lay  aside  their  beauty,  like  matrons  who,  in  achieving  their  ma- 
ternal triumphs,  begin  to  disdain  for  themselves  the  vain  adorn- 
ments of  coquetry. 

The  Count  now  devotes  his  attention  to  the  most  sublime  of  all 
the  mysteries  of  nature,  the  perpetuation  of  created  kinds,  and 
the  reproduction  of  life.  In  opening  and  analyzing  a  bud  detached 
some  time  before  from  the  tree,  by  the  injury  of  an  insect,  Char- 
ney had  noticed  the  primary  germ  destined  to  fertilization,  but 
demanding  protection  and  nutriment  from  the  flower  before  its 


P  I  C  C  I  O  L  A  .  67 

feeble  organization  could  be  perfected.  Admirable  foresight  of 
nature,  as  yet  unexplained  by  the  logic  of  science.  But  now  the 
reproduction  of  a  future  Picciola  is  to  be  completed  ;  and  the 
narrow  seed  must  be  made  to  comprehend  all  the  developement 
of  a  perfect  plant.  The  curious  observer  is  to  direct  his  notice 
to  the  fecundation  of  the  vegetable  egg;  and  for  this  purpose, 
Picciola  must  be  submitted  to  further  mutilation.  No  matter ! — 
She  is  already  preparing  herself  for  the  reparation  of  her  losses. 
On  all  sides,  buds  are  reappearing.  From  every  joint  of  her 
stem,  or  branches,  new  shoots  are  putting  forth  to  produce  a  se- 
cond flowering. 

In  pursuance  of  this  task,  Charney  soon  took  his  usual  seat 
with  the  grave  demeanour  of  an  experimentalist.  But  scarcely 
had  he  cast  his  eyes  upon  the  plant  when  he  is  shocked  by  the 
air  of  languor  apparent  in  his  favf^urite.  The  flowers  inclining 
on  their  peduncles,  seem  to  have  lost  their  power  of  turning  to- 
wards the  sun;  their  leaves  curling  inwards  their  deep  and  lus- 
trous verdure.  For  a  moment  <  "barney  fancies  that  a  heavy  storm 
is  at  hand  ;  and  prepares  his  mats  and  osier  bands  to  secure  Pic- 
ciola from  the  force  of  the  wind  or  hail.  But  no !  the  sky  is 
cloudless; — the  air  serene; — and  the  lark  is  heard  singing  out  of 
sight,  overhead,  secure  in  the  breathlessness  of  the  blue  expanse 
of  heaven. 

Charney's  brow  becomes  overcast.  "  She  is  in  want  of  water," 
is  his  first  idea  ;  but  having  eagerly  fetched  the  pitcher  from  his 
chamber,  and  on  his  knees  beside  the  plant,  removed  the  lower 
branches,  in  order  at  once  to  reach  the  root,  he  is  struck  motion- 
less with  consternation.  All — all — is  explained.  His  Picciola  is 
about  to  perish  ! 

While  the  flowers  and  perfumes  were  multiplying  to  increase 
his  studies  and  enjoyments,  the  stem  of  the  plant,  also,  was  increas- 
ing unobserved.  Enclosed  between  two  stones  of  the  pavement, 
and  strangled  by  their  pressure,  a  deep  indentation  first  gave  token 
of  her  sufferings,  the  surface  of  which  being  at  length  crushed 
and  wounded  by  the  edges  of  the  granite,  the  sap  has  besrun  to 
exude  from  the  fissures,  and  the  strength  of  the  plant  is  exhaust- 
ed! 

Limited  in  the  allotment  of  soil  for  her  nutriment,  her  sap  un- 
naturally expanded,  her  strength  overtasked,  Picciola  must  die, 
unless  prompt  relief  can  be  affcirded  ! — Her  doom  is  sealed! — 
One  only  resource  remains.  By  removing  the  stones  that  weigh 
upon  her  roots,  the  plant  may  yet  be  preserved.  But  how  to 
effect  this,  without  an  implement  to  assist  her  eff"nrts?— Rushinc 
towards  the  postern  and  knocking  vehemently,  the  Count  sum- 
mons Ludovico  to  his  aid.  But  although  on  the  gaoler's  arrival 
the  explanation  of  the  disaster  and  the  sight  of  his  expiring  god- 


68  P  I  C  C  I  O  L  A  . 

daughter  overwhelm  him  with  sorrow,  no  other  answer  can  be 
obtained  by  Charney  to  his  entreaties  that  the  pavement  may  in- 
stantly be  reinoved,  than  "EcctUcnza!  the  thing  is  impossible!" 
Without  hesitation,  the  Count  attempted  to  conciliate  the 
gaoler's  acquiescence  by  the  offer  no  longer  of  the  gilt  goblet  of 
his  dressing-case,  but  the  whole  cabket. 

But  Ludovico,  assuming  his  most  imposing  attitude,  folded  his 
arms  upon  his  breast;  exclaiming,  in  his  half-provincial,  half- 
Piedmontese  dialect,  '^Bagasse,  bagasse!  Ludovico  is  too  old 
a  soldier  to  submit  to  bribery.  I  know  my  orders.  I  know  my 
duty.  It  is  to  the  captain-commandant  you  must  address  your- 
self" 

"No,"  cried  Charney.  "Rather  would  I  tear  up  the  stones 
with  my  hands,  even  were  my  bleeding  nails  sacrificed  in  the 
attempt !" 

"Ay,  ay  !  time  will  show !"  replied  Ludovico,  resuming  the 
pipe,  which  he  was  in  the  habit  of  holding  half-extinguished 
under  his  thumb,  during  his  colloquies  with  the  Count;  and  after 
a  puff  or  two,  turning  on  his  heel  to  depart. 

"Good  Ludovico! — I  have  hitherto  found  you  so  kind, — so 
charitable!  Can  you  do  nothing  for  my  assistance?"  persisted 
Charney. 

"  Trondidio !"  answered  the  gaoler,  trying  to  conceal  by  an 
oath  the  emotion  gaining  upon  his  feelings,  "  can't  you  leave  me 
a  moment's  peace, — you  and  your  cursed  gilly-flower  ! — As  to  the 
poverina,  I  forgive  her, — 'tis  no  fault  of  Picc;ola  ! — but  as  to  you, 

whose  obstinacy  will  certainly  be  the  death  of  the  poor  thing " 

"  What  would  you  have  me  do,  then?"  exclaimed  the  Count: 
"  Petition  the  commandant,  I  tell  you,  petition  the  command- 
ant !"  cried  Ludovico. 
"  Never !" 

"  There  you  are  again  ;  but  if  your  pride  is  so  tetchy,  will  you 
give  mr  leave  to  speak  to  him  ?" 

"No,"  replied  Charney;  "I  forbid  you." 

"You  forbid  me!"  cried  the  gaoler: — "D e!  is  k  i/oiir  or- 
ders I  am  to  obey  ?     If  I  choose  to  speak  to  him,  who  is  to  pre- 
vent me?" 
"  Ludovico !" 

"  Set  your  mind  at  ease;  I  am  not  going  to  undertake  any  such 
fool's  errand.  What  business  is  it  of  mine? — Let  her  live,  let  her 
die; — che  m^  importa?  If  you  want  to  put  an  end  to  the  plant,  'tis 
your  own  affair — Buona  nottc!" 

"  But  has  your  commandant  sense  enough  to  understand  me?" 
demanded  the  Count,  detaining  him. 

"  Why  not? — do  you  take  him  for  a  kinserlick?  Tell  him  your 
story  straight  on  end  :  pack  it  into  pretty  little  sentences,  like  a 


P  1  C  C  1  (1  L  A .  69 

scholar  who  knows  what  he  is  about; — for  now's  the  time  to  put 
your  learning  to  some  use.  V/hy  shouldn't  lie  enter  into  your  love 
for  a  flower  as  well  as  I  have?  Besides,  I  shall  be  there  to  put  in 
a  word.  I  can  tell  him  what  a  capital  tisane  is  to  be  made  of  the 
herb.  The  commandant's  an  ailing  man  himself  He  has  got  a 
sharp  fit  of  the  rlieumatism  upon  him  at  this  very  moment,  which 
will  perhaps  make  him  enter  into  the  case." 

Charney  still  hesitated  ;  but  Ludovico  pointed  with  one  of  his 
knowing  winks  to  Picciola,  sick  and  suffering  ;  and,  with  a  gesture 
of  anxiety  from  the  Count,  off  went  the  gaoler  on  his  errand. 

Some  minutes  afterwards,  a  man  in  a  hilf-military,  half-civil 
uniform,  made  his  appearance  in  the  court,  with  an  inkstand  and  a 
sheet  of  paper  bearing  a  government  stamp.  As  Ludovico  had 
announced,  this  person  remained  present  while  Charney  wrote  out 
his  petition  ;  received  it  sealed  into  his  hands,  and,  with  a  respect- 
ful bow,  departed,  carrying  off  the  inkstand. 


70  P  I  C  C  I  O  L  A . 

Reader,  despise  not  the  self-abasement  of  the  haughty  Count  de 
Charney  ! — marvel  not  at  the  readiness  with  which  lie  has  con- 
sented to  an  act  of  humi' iation.  Remember  that  Picciola  is  all  in 
all  to  the  poor  prisoner  .  Reflect  upon  the  influence  of  isolation  on 
the  firmest  mind,  the  proudest  spirit!  Had  he  recourse  to  submis- 
sion when  himself  oppressed  with  suffering,  pining  after  the  free 
air  of  liberty,  overpowered  by  the  walls  of  his  dungeon,  as  Picciola 
by  its  pavement?  No!  for  his  own  woes  the  Count  had  fortitude; 
but  between  himself  and  his  favourite,  a  league  of  mutual  obliga- 
tion subsists — sacred  enjoyments  have  arisen.  Picciola  preserved 
his  life;  must  her  own  be  sacrificed  to  his  self-love? 

The  venerable  Girardi  presently  beheld  the  Count  pacing  the 
little  court  with  agitated  footsteps,  and  gestures  of  anxiety  and  im- 
patience. How  tediously  were  the  moments  passing — how  cruel 
the  delay  to  which  he  was  exposed  !  Three  hours  had  elapsed  since 
he  despatched  his  petition  ;  and  no  answer.  As  the  sap  of  the  ex- 
piring plant  oozed  from  the  wounded  bark,  Charney  felt  that  he 
had  rather  his  own  blood  were  required  of  him.  The  old  man, 
addressing  him  from  the  window,  tried  in  vain  to  afford  him  con- 
solation; but  at  length,  more  experienced  than  himself  in  acci- 
dents of  the  vegetable  and  animal  kingdom,  indicated  a  mode  of 
closing  up  the  wounds  of  the  stem,  so  as  to  remove  at  least  one 
source  of  peril. 

With  a  mixture  of  finely  chopped  straw  and  moistened  clay,  he 
forms  a  mastic,  easily  fixed  upon  the  bark  with  bandages  of  torn 
cambric.  An  hour  passed  rapidly  in  the  performance ;  but  at  its 
close,  the  Count  has  to  bewail  anew  the  silence  of  the  governor. 

At  the  usual  dinner  hour,  Ludovico  made  his  appearance  with  a 
vexed  and  careworn  countenance,  annunciatory  of  no  good  tidings. 
The  gaoler  scarcely  deigns  a  reply  to  the  interrogations  of  Char- 
ney, except  by  monosyllables,  or  the  roughest  remonstrances. 

"  Can't  you  wait  ? — What  use  in  so  much  hurry  ? — Give  him 
time  to  write !" 

Ludovico  seemed  preparing  himself  for  the  part  which  he  found 
he  should  be  required  to  play  in  the  sequel. 

Charney  touched  not  a  morsel  :  the  sentence  of  life  or  death  was 
impending  over  Picciola  ;  and  he  sat  trying  to  inspire  himself  with 
courage,  by  protesting  that  none  but  the  most  cruel  of  men  could 
refuse  so  trifling  a  concession  as  he  had  asked.  But  his  impatience 
did  but  increase  with  his  arguments,  as  if  the  commandant  could 
have  no  business  more  important  in  hand  than  to  address  an  imme- 
diate answer  to  his  memorial.  At  the  slightest  noise,  Charney's 
eyes  turned  eagerly  towards  the  door  by  which  he  was  expecting 
the  fiat  of  the  governor. 

Evening  came — no  news; — night — not  a  word  !  The  unfortu- 
nate prisoner^  did  not  close  his  eyes  that  night !  — ^ 


PICCIOLA.  71 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

On  the  morrow,  the  anxiously  expected  missive  was  delivered 
to  him.  In  the  dry  and  laconic  style  of  office,  the  commandant 
announced  that  no  change  could  be  made  in  the  distribution  of 
the  walls,  moats,  or  ditches  of  the  fortress  of  Fenestrella,  unless 
by  the  express  sanction  of  the  Governor  of  Turin  ;  "  and  the  pave- 
ment of  the  court,"  added  the  commandant,  "  is  virtually  a  wall 
of  the  prison." 

Charney  stood  confounded  by  the  stupidity  of  such  an  argu- 
ment! — To  make  the  preservation  of  a  flower  a  state  question, — 
a  demolition  of  the  imperial  fortification,  —  to  wait  a  reply  from 
the  Governor  of  Turin  ! — wait  a  century,  when  a  day's  delay  was 
likely  to  prove  fatal !  The  governor  might  perhaps  refer  him  to 
the  prime  minister, — the  minister  to  the  senate, — the  senate  to  the 
emperor  himself.  What  profound  contempt  for  the  littleness  of 
mankind  arose  in  his  bosom  at  the  idea !  —  Even  Ludovico  ap- 
peared little  better  in  his  eyes  than  the  assistant  of  the  execu- 
tioner :  for  on  the  first  outburst  of  his  indignation,  the  gaolei 
remonstrated  in  the  tone  of  an  underling  of  the  administration, 
replying  to  all  his  entreaties  by  citing  the  rules  and  regulations  of 
the  fortress. 

Charney  drew  near  to  the  feeble  invalid  whose  bloom  was 
already  withering;  and  with  what  grief  did  he  now  contemplate 
ner  fading  hues!  The  happiness  —  the  poetry  of  his  life  seemed 
vanishing  before  him.  The  fragrance  of  Picciola  already  indicated 
a  mistaken  hour,  like  a  watch  whose  movements  are  out  of  order. 
Every  blossom  drooping  on  its  stem  had  renounced  the  power  of 
turning  towards  the  sun ;  as  a  dying  girl  closes  her  eyes  that  she 
may  not  behold  the  lover,  the  sight  of  whom  might  attach  her 
anew  to  a  world  from  which  she  is  departing. 

While  Charney  was  giving  way  to  these  painful  reflections,  the 
Foice  of  his  venerable  companion  in  captivity  appealed  to  his 
attention. 

"  My  dear  comrade,"  whispered  the  mild  and  paternal  accents 
of  the  old  man,  "if  she  should  die,  —  and  I  fear  her  hours  are 
numbered, — what  will  become  of  you  here  alone?  What  occupa- 
tion will  you  find  to  fill  the  place  of  those  pursuits  that  have  be- 
come so  dear  to  you?  You  will  expire,  in  your  turn,  of  lassitude 
and  ennui ;  solitude  once  invaded,  becomes  insupportable  in  the 
renewal !  You  will  sink  under  its  weight,  as  I  should,  were  I  now 


72  PfCCIOLA. 

parted  from  my  daughter, — from  the  guardian  angel  whose  smile 
is  the  sunshine  of  my  prison.  With  respect  to  your  plant,  the 
.Mpine  breezes  doubtless  wafted  hither  the  seed,  or  a  bird  of  the 
air  dropped  it  from  liis  beak;  and  even  were  the  same  circum- 
stance to  furnish  you  with  a  second  Picciola,  your  joy  in  the  pre- 
sent would  be  gone,  prepared  as  you  wouhi  be  to  see  it  perisli  like 
the  first.  My  dear  neighbour,  be  persuaded  ! — suffer  me  to  have 
your  liberty  interceded  for  by  ray  friends  Your  release  will  per- 
haps be  more  easily  obtained  than  you  are  aware  of  A  thousand 
traits  of  clemency  and  generosity  of  the  new  emperor,  are  every 
where  rumoured.  He  is  now  at  Turin,  accompanied  by  Jose- 
[)hine." 

And  this  last  name  was  pronounced  by  the  old  man  as  if  it  con- 
tained the  promise  of  success. 

"At  Turin  !" — exclaimed  Charney,  eagerly  raising  his  drooping 
head. 

"  For  the  last  two  days,"  replied  Girardi,  delighted  to  see  his 
advice  less  vehemently  rejected  than  usual  by  the  Count. 

"And  how  far  is  it  from  Turin  to  Fenestrella  ?"  continued 
Charney. 

"  By  the  Giaveno  and  Avigliano  road,  not  more  than  seven 
leagues." 

"  What  space  of  time  is  necessary  for  the  journey?" 

"  Four  or  five  hours,  at  the  least :  for  at  this  moment  the  roads 
are  obstructed  by  troops,  baggage-wagons,  and  the  equipages  of 
those  who  are  hastening  to  the  approaching  festival.  The  road 
that  winds  through  the  valleys  by  the  river  side,  is  certainly  the 
longest;   but  in  the  end,  would  probably  cause  less  delay." 

"And  do  you  think  it  possible,"  resumed  Charney,  "to  procure 
a  messenger  for  me  who  would  reach  Turin  this  very  night?" 

"  My  daughter  would  try  to  find  a  trustworthy  person." 

"And  you  say  that  General  Bonaparte,  —  that  the  First  Con- 
sul—" 

"  I  said  tlie  Eiiiprror," — gravely  interrupted  Girardi. 

"The  Emperor,  then, — you  say  that  the  Emperor  is  at  Turin?" 
resumed  Charney,  as  if  gathering  courage  for  some  strong  mea- 
sure. "  I  will  address  a  memorial,  then,  to  the  Emperor."  And 
the  Count  dwelt  upon  the  latter  word,  as  if  to  accustom  himself 
to  the  new  road  he  had  determined  to  follow. 

"  Heaven's  mercy  be  praised  !"  ejaculated  the  old  man  :  "  for 
Heaven  itself  has  inspired  this  victory  over  the  instigations  of 
sinful  human  pride! — Yes — write!  let  your  petition  for  pardon  be 
worded  in  proper  form;  and  my  friends  Fossombroni,  Cotenna, 
and  Delarue,  will  support  it  with  all  their  interest,  with  Mares- 
caichi,  the  minister,  with  Cardinal  Caprara,  and  even  with  Meizi, 
who  has  just  been  appointed  chancellor  of  the  new  k'lr.c  iom. 
Who  knows?      We  may  perhaps  quit    Fenestrella   on   th£    same 


P  I  C  C  I  O  L  A  .  73 

day! — you  to  recommence  a  life  of  usefulness  and  activity, — I,  to 
follow  the  gentle  guidance  of  my  daughter." 

"Nay,  sir — nay,"  cried  the  Count.  "Forgive  me  if  I  decline 
»he  protection  to  which  your  good-will  would  generously  recom- 
mend me.  It  is  to  the  Emperor  in  person  that  my  memorial  must 
be  remitted — to-night,  or  early  in  the  morning.  Do  you  answer  to 
me  for  a  messenger  1" 

"  I  do,"  said  the  old  man,  firmly,  after  a  momentary  pause. 

"  One  question  more,"  added  (Jharney,  "  Is  there  no  chance 
of  your  being  compromised  by  the  service  you  are  so  kind  as  to 
render  me  ?" 

"  The  pleasure  of  being  of  use  to  you  leaves  me  no  leisure  for 
apprehension,"  answered  Girardi.  "  Let  me  but  lend  my  aid  to 
the  alleviation  of  your  afflictions,  and  I  am  content.  Should  evil 
arise,  I  know  how  to  submit  to  the  decrees  of  Providence." 

Charney  was  deeply  touched  by  these  simple  expressions.  Tears 
glistened  in  his  eyes  as  he  raised  them  towards  the  good  old  man. 

"What  would  I  give  to  press  your  hand!"  cried  he;  and  he 
stretched  out  his  arm  with  the  utmost  effort,  in  hopes  to  reach  the 
grated  window,  while  Girardi  extended  /lis  between  the  bars.  But 
it  was  all  in  vain.  A  movement  of  mutual  sympathy  was  the  utmost 
that  could  pas-s  between  them. 

When  Charney  took  leave  of  Picciola,  on  his  way  to  his  cham 
ber,  he  could  not  refrain  from  whispering,  "  Courage  !  I  shall  save 
thee  yet !"  And,  having  reached  his  miserable  camera,  he  selected 
the  whitest  of  his  remaining  handkerchiefs,  mended  his  toothpick 
with  the  greatest  care,  made  up  a  fresh  supply  of  ink,  and  set  to 
work.  When  his  memorial  was  completed,  which  was  not  without 
a  thousand  pangs  of  wounded  pride,  a  little  cord  descended  from 
the  grating  of  Girardi's  window,  to  which  the  paper  was  attached 
by  the  Count,  and  carefully  drawn  up. 

An  hour  afterwards,  the  person  who  had  undertaken  to  present 
the  petition  to  the  Emperor,  was  proceeding,  accompanied  by  a 
guide,  through  the  valleys  of  Suza,  Bussolino,  and  St.  George, 
along  the  bank  of  the  river  Doria.  Both  were  on  horseback;  but 
the  greater  their  haste,  the  more  perplexing  the  obstacles  by  which 
their  way  was  impeded.  Recent  rains  had  broken  away  the  bank ; 
the  river  was,  in  many  spots,  overflowing;  and  more  than  one 
raging  torrent  appeared  to  unite  the  Doria  with  the  lake  Avigliano 
Already,  the  forges  of  Giaveno  were  reddening  in  the  horizon,  an- 
nouncing that  the  day  was  about  to  close,  when,  joyfully  regaining 
the  high  road,  they  entered,  though  not  without  having  surmounted 
many  difficulties,  the  magnificent  avenue  of  Rivoli ;  and  late  in  the 
evening,  arrived  at  Turin.  The  first  tidings  by  which  they  were 
saluted,  was  an  announcement  that  the  emperor-king  had  already 
proceeded  to  Alexandria. 


74  P  I  C  C  I  O  L  A  , 


BOOK  II. 


CHAPTER   I. 

At  dawn  of  day,  next  morning,  the  city  of  Alexandria  was  ar- 
rayed in  all  its  attributes  of  festivity.  An  immense  population  cir- 
culated in  the  streets,  festooned  with  tapestry,  garlands  of  flowers, 
and  glossy  foliage.  The  crowd  pressed  chiefly  from  the  Town  Hall, 
inhabited  by  Napoleon  and  Josephine,  towards  the  triumphal  arch, 
erected  at  the  extremity  of  the  suburb  through  which  they  were  to 
pass  on  their  way  to  the  memorable  plains  of  Marengo. 

The  whole  way,  from  Alexandria  to  the  Marengo,  the  same 
populace,  the  same  cries,  the  same  braying  of  trumpets.  Never 
had  the  pilgrimage  to  the  shrine  of  our  Lady  of  Loretto — never 
had  even  the  Holy  Jubilee  of  Rome,  attracted  such  multitudes  as 
Avere  proceeding  towards  the  field  of  that  tremendous  battle, 
whose  ashes  were  scarcely  yet  cold  in  the  earth.  On  the  plain 
of  Marengo,  the  Emperor  has  promised  to  preside  over  a  sham- 
fight —  a  mimic  representation,  given  in  honour  of  the  signal 
victory  obtained  five  years  before  upon  the  spot,  by  the  Consul 
Bonaparte. 

Tables,  raised  on  trestles,  appear  to  line  the  road.  The  people, 
in  innumerable  masses,  are  eating,  drinking,  singing,  shouting, 
and  acting  plays  in  the  open  air.  Even  preaching  is  not  ne- 
glected ;  for  more  than  one  pulpit  has  been  im.provisated  between 
the  theatres  and  wine-shops ;  from  which  hosts  of  greasy  monks, 
not  satisfied  with  giving  their  benediction  to  the  passengers,  and 
exhorting  them  to  temperance  and  sobriety,  gratify  their  avarice 
by  the  sale  of  consecrated  chaplets,  and  little  virgins,  carved  in 
ivory. 

In  the  long  and  only  street  of  the  village  of  Marengo,  everv 
house,  transformed  into  an  inn,  presents  a  scene  of  noise  and  con- 
fusion. To  every  window,  the  eyes  of  the  spectators  are  attracted 
by  strings  of  smoked  hams  or  sausages;  of  quails  or  red  par- 
tridges, or  pyramids  of  gingerbread  and  cakes.  People  are  pushing 
in,  or  pushing  out  at  every  door;  Italians  and  French,  soldiers  or 
peasants ;  heaps  of  maccaroni,  of  marchpane,  and  nther  dainties, 
are  beginning  to  disappear.  In  the  dark  and  narrow  staircases, 
people  rub  quarrelsomely  against  each  other ;  some  even  com- 
pelled, by  the  rapacity  of  their  neighbours,  to  raise  over   their 


P  I  C  C  I  O  L  A .  75 

heads  the  food  they  are  carrying;  while  a  cleverer  hand  and 
longer  arm  than  their  own,  makes  off,  unperceived,  with  the 
savoury  burden  : — whether  a  buttered  loaf,  figs,  grapes,  oranges, 
a  Turin  ham,  a  larded  quail,  a  force-meat  pie,  or  an  excellent 
stvfato,  in  its  tureen  ; — when  cries  of  indignation,  or  shrieks  of 
distress,  accompanied  by  mockeries  and  loud  laughter,  resound 
on  every  side.  The  thief,  in  the  ascending  line  upon  the  stair- 
case, satisfied  with  his  plunder,  tries  to  turn  back,  and  run  away. 
The  victim,  in  the  descending  line,  robbed  of  his  dinner,  attempts 
to  return,  and  furnish  himself  with  new  provisions;  and  the  flux 
and  reflux  of  the  crowd,  disorganized  by  these  irregular  move- 
ments, is  pushed  partly  into  the  street,  and  partly  into  the  ware- 
house on  the  second  story,  amid  oaths,  imprecations,  and  peals  of 
laughter;  while  their  discomfiture  is  hailed,  with  added  uproar,  by 
the  drinkers  already  established  in  the  wine-shpps  of  the  ground 
floor,  in  defiance  of  the  sage  counsels  of  the  monks. 

From  one  room  to  another,  among  tables  covered  with  dishes, 
and  surrounded  with  guests,  are  seen  circulating  the  hostess  and 
giannine,  or  waitresses  of  the  house ;  some  with  gay-coloured 
aprons,  powdered  hair,  and  the  coquettish  little  poniard,  which 
forms  part  of  their  holiday  costume;  others  with  short  petticoats, 
long  braids  of  hair,  naked  feet,  and  a  thousand  glittering  orna- 
ments of  tinsel  or  gold. 

But  to  these  animated  scenes  in  the  village  or  the  road,  —  the 
chamber  or  the  street,  —  to  these  cries,  songs,  exclamations,  the 
noise  of  music,  dancmor  talkingr  and  the  jingling  of  plates  and 
glasses,  other  sounds  of  a  different  nature  are  about  to  succeed. 

In  an  hour  the  thundering  noise  of  cannon  will  be  heard  ;  can- 
non almost  harmless,  indeed,  and  likely  only  to  break  the  windows 
of  the  houses.  The  little  street  will  echo  with  the  word  of  com- 
mand, and  every  house  be  eclipsed  by  the  smoke  of  volleys  of 
musketry,  charged  with  powder.  Then,  beware  of  pillage,  unless 
every  remnant  of  provision  has  been  placed  in  safety;  nay,  let  the 
gay  gionnina  look  to  herself:  for  a  mimic  war  is  apt,  in  such  par- 
ticulars, to  imitate  its  prototype.  In  great  particulars,  however, 
no  less :  for  nothing  can  exceed  the  majesty  of  the  preparations 
for  the  sham-fight  upon  the  plain  of  Marengo. 

A  magnificent  throne,  planted  round  with  tri-coloured  standards, 
is  raised  upon  one  of  the  few  hillocks  which  diversify  the  field. 
Already  the  troops,  in  every  variety  of  uniform,  are  defiling  to- 
wards the  spot.  The  trumpet  appeals  to  the  cavalry,  the  rolling 
of  drums  seems  to  cover  the  whole  surface  of  the  plain,  which 
trembles  under  the  heavy  progress  of  the  artillery  and  ammuni- 
tion-wagons. The  aide-de-camps,  in  their  glittering  uniforms,  are 
galloping  hither  and  thither ;  the  banners  waving  to  the  wind, 
which  causes,  at  the  same  time,  a  pleasing  undulation  of  the  fef- 


re  PIC  CI  OLA. 

thers,  aigrettes,  and  tri-coloured  plumes;  while  the  sun,  that  ever- 
present  guest  at  the  fetes  of  Napoleon,  that  radiant  illustrator  of 
the  pomps  and  vanities  of  the  empire,  casts  its  vivid  reflections 
upon  the  golden  embroideries,  the  brass  and  bronze  of  the  cannon, 
helmets,  cuirasses,  and  the  sixty  thousand  bayonets  bristling  the 
tumultuous  field. 

By  degrees,  the  troops,  arriving  with  hurried  march  at  the  ap- 
pointed spot,  continue  to  force  backward,  in  a  wild  semi-circle  of 
retreat,  the  crowds  of  curious  spectators,  broken  up  like  the  rip- 
pling billows  of  the  ocean,  by  the  progress  of  one  enormous  wave ; 
while  a  few  horsemen  charging  along  the  line,  proceed  to  clear 
the  field  for  action. 

The  village  is  now  deserted ;  the  gay  tents  are  struck,  the  tres- 
tles removed,  the  songs  and  clamours  reduced  to  silence.  On  all 
sides  are  to  be  seen,  scattered  along  the  vast  circuit  of  the  plain, 
men  interrupted  in  their  sport  or  repast,  and  women  dragging 
away  their  children,  terrified  by  the  flashing  sabres,  or  loud  neigh- 
ing of  the  chargers. 

It  is  no  difficult  matter  to  discern,  by  attentively  examining  the 
countenances  of  the  men  still  collected  under  the  same  colours, 
to  which  among  them  the  orders  of  the  general-in-chief.  Marshal 
Lannes,  has  assigned,  in  the  coming  fray,  the  glory  of  victory, — 
to  ichich  the  duty  of  being  vanquished;  while  the  gallant  marshal 
himself,  followed  by  a  numerous  Hat  major,  is  seen  tracing  and 
reconnoitring  the  ground,  on  which  it  has  been  already  his  lot  to 
figure  with  such  distinction.  He  now  distributed  to  each  brigade 
its  part  in  the  coming  battle ;  taking  care,  however,  to  omit  in  the 
representation,  the  blunders  of  that  great  and  terrible  day,  the  14th 
of  June,  1800:  for,  after  all,  it  is  but  a  delicate  flattery  in  mili- 
tary tactics,  a  madrigal,  composed  with  salvos  of  artillery,  which 
is  about  to  be  recited  in  honour  of  the  new  sovereign  of  Italy. 

The  troops  now  proceed  to  form  into  line,  deploy,  and  form 
again,  at  the  word  of  command;  when  military  symphonies  are 
heard  from  the  side  of  Alexandria;  vague  murmurs  increase  from 
the  mass  of  human  population,  which,  protected  by  the  streams  of 
the  'J'anaro,  the  Bormida,  the  Orba,  and  the  ravines  of  Tortona, 
form  the  moving  girdle  of  the  vast  arena.  Suddenly,  the  drums 
beat  to  arms;  cries  and  huzzas  burst  from  amid  circling  clouds 
of  dust;  sabres  glitter  in  the  sunshine;  muskets  are  shouldered, 
as  if  by  a  mechanical  movement;  while  a  brilliant  equipage, 
drawn  by  eight  noble  horses,  caparisoned  and  emblazoned  with 
the  arms  of  Italy  and  France,  conveys  to  the  foot  of  their  throne, 
the  Emoeror  and  Empress — Napoleon  and  Josephine. 

The  Emperor,  after  receiving  homage  from  all  the  deputations 
of  Italy,  the  envoys  of  Lucca,  Genoa,  Florence,  Rome,  and  even 


r  1  G  C  I  O  L  A  .  77 

Prussia,  mounts  impatiently  on  horseback ;  and,  instantaneously, 
the  whole  plain  is  overspread  with  fire  and  smoke. 

Such  were  the  sports  of  ti)e  youthful  hero !  War  for  his  pas- 
time, war  for  the  accomplishment  of  his  puissant  destinies!  No- 
thing less  than  war  could  satisfy  that  ardent  temperament,  formed 
for  conquest  and  supremacy,  to  which  the  subjugation  of  the 
whole  world  would  alone  have  left  an  hour  of  leisure ! 

An  officer,  appointed  by  the  Emperor,  stood  explaining  to  Jose- 
phine, as  she  sat  solitary  ou  her  throne,  half  terrified  by  the  spec- 
tacle before  her,  the  meaning  of  the  various  manoeuvres,  and  the 
object  of  every  evolution.  He  showed  her  the  Austrian  general, 
Melas,  expelling  the  French  from  the  village  of  Marengo,  over- 
powering them  at  Pietra-Buona,  at  Castel-Ceriola;  and  Bonaparte 
suddenly  arresting  him  in  the  midst  of  his  victorious  career,  with 
only  nine  hundred  men  of  the  consular  guard.  Her  attention 
was  next  directed  to  one  of  the  most  important  movements  of  the 
battle. 

The  republicans  tippear  to  be  giving  way,  when  Desaix  sud- 
denly appears  on  the  Tortona  road;  and  the  terrible  Hungarian 
column,  under  Zach,  marches  to  meet  him.  But,  while  the  offi- 
cer was  yet  speaking,  Josephine's  attention  is  diverted  from  the 
military  movements,  by  a  sort  of  confusion  around  her ;  on  de- 
manding the  cause  of  which,  she  is  informed  that  "  a  young  girl, 
having  imprudently  cleared  the  line  of  military  operations,  at  the 
risk  of  being  crushed  by  the  artillery,  or  trampled  by  charges  of 
cavalry,  is  creating  farther  confusion  by  her  obstinacy  in  pressing 
towards  the  presence  of  her  majesty,  the  Empress-Queen." 


CHAPTER   II. 

Teresa,  for  the  intruder  was  no  other  than  the  daughter  of 
Girardi,  had  been  for  a  moment  overcome  by  the  intelligence  she 
received  at  Turin  of  the  departure  of  the  Emperor  for  Alexan- 
dria. But  it  was  fatigue  rather  than  discouragement  which  made 
her  pause  ;  and  nothing  but  the  recollection  that  an  unhappy  cap- 
tive was  dependent  upon  her  for  the  accomplishment  of  his  only 
wish  on  earth,  would  have  urged  her  forward  upon  her  perilous 
errand.  Without  regard,  therefore,  to  her  weariness  or  loss  of 
time,  she  signified  to  the  guide  her  intention  of  proceeding  ai 
once  to  Alexandria. 

"  To  Alexandria  !     'Tis  twice  as  far  as  we  have  come  already  I" 
cried  the  man. 
7* 


78  P  I  C  C  1  O  L  A . 

"  No  matter,  we  must  set  out  again  immediately." 

"  I,  for  my  part,  shall  not  set  out  again  before  to-morrow,"  re- 
plied the  guide;  "and  then,  only  to  return  to  Fenestrella;  so  a 
pleasant  journey  to  you,  signora  !" 

All  the  arguments  she  could  use,  were  unavailing  to  change  hia 
determination.  The  man,  who  had  enveloped  himself  in  the  iron 
obstinacy  of  the  Piedmontese  character,  speedily  unsaddled  his 
horses,  and  laid  himself  down  between  them  in  the  stable,  for  a 
good  night's  rest. 

But  Teresa,  firm.ly  devoted  to  her  enterprise,  would  not  now 
recede  from  the  undertaking.  Having  made  up  her  mind  to  pur- 
sue her  journey,  she  entreated  the  landlady  of  the  inn  in  the 
Dora  Grossa,  where  she  had  put  up,  to  procure  her  the  means 
of  proceeding  to  Alexandria  without  a  moment's  delay;  and  the 
hostess  instantly  despatched  her  waiters  in  various  directions 
through  the  city  in  search  of  a  conveyance;  but  without  success! 
From  the  Suza  gate  to  that  of  the  Po,  from  the  Porta  Nuova  to 
that  of  the  palace,  not  a  horse,  carriage  nor  cart,  public  or  pri- 
vate, was  to  be  seen  ;  all  had  long  been  engaged,  in  consequence 
of  the  approaching  solemnization  at  Alexandria. 

Teresa  now  gave  herself  up  to  despair !  Absorbed  in  anxious 
thought,  she  stationed  herself  with  downcast  looks  on  the  steps 
of  the  inn,  where  luckily  the  gathering  darkness  secured  her 
from  recognition  by  the  inhabitants  of  her  native  city,  when  sud- 
denly, the  sound  of  approaching  wheels  became  audible,  accom- 
panied by  the  tinkling  of  mule-bells  ;  and  at  the  very  door  where 
she  was  standing,  there  appeared  two  powerful  mules  drawing  one 
of  those  long  caravans  in  use  among  travelling  merchants;  of 
which  the  boxes,  closed  by  heavy  padlocks,  are  made  to  open  and 
form  a  movable  shop ;  but  the  only  accommodation  of  which, 
for  passengers,  consists  in  a  narrow  leathern  seat  in  front,  half 
under  cover  of  a  small  awning  of  oil-cloth. 

The  man  and  woman,  owners  of  the  cart  and  its  merchandise, 
having  alighted,  began  to  stretch  their  arms  and  yawn  aloud; 
stamping  with  their  feet  by  way  of  rousing  themselves  after  a 
long  and  heavy  slumber.  At  length,  having  familiarly  saluted  the 
hostess,  they  took  refuzTf  in  the  chimney-corner,  holding  out  their 
hands  and  feet  towards  the  vine-stocks  blazing  on  the  hearth; 
and  after  ordering  the  mules  to  be  unharnessed  and  carefully 
attended  to,  they  began  to  congratulate  each  other  on  the  conclu- 
sion of  their  tedious  journey,  ordered  supper,  and  talked  of  bed 

The  hostess,  too,  was  preparing  for  rest.  The  yawning  waiters 
closed  up  the  doors  and  window-shutters;  and  poor  Teresa, 
watching  with  tearful  eyes  all  these  preparations,  thought  only  of 
the  hours  that  were  passing  away,  the  dying  flower,  and  the  de- 
spair of  the  Count  de  Charney 


P  T  C  C  I  O  I.  A  .  79 

"A  night,  a  whole  night!"  she  exclaimed;  "  a  night  of  which 
every  minute  will  be  counted  by  that  unhappy  man  ;  while  /  shall 
be  safe  asleep.  Nay,  even  to-inorrow,  it  will  be  perhaps  inipossi- 
bje  f'^r  me  to  find  a  conveyance !" 

And  she  cast  her  wistful  eyes  upon  the  two  travellers,  as  if  her 
last  hope  lay  in  their  assistance.  But  she  was  still  ignorant  of 
the  road  they  were  to  take,  or  whether  they  could  or  would  be 
troubled  with  her  company  ;  and  the  poor  girl,  unaccustomed  to 
find  herself  alonc;  among  strangers,  still  less  among  strangers  of 
such  a  class,  impelled  by  anxiety,  but  withheld  by  timidity,  ad- 
vanced a  step  towards  them,  then  paused,  mute,  trembling,  and 
undecided;  when  she  was  startled  by  the  approach  of  a  female 
servant,  holding  a  candle  and  a  key,  who  pointed  out  to  her  the 
room  into  which  she  was  to  retire  for  the  night.  Forced  by  this 
proposition  to  take  some  immediate  step,  Teresa  put  aside  the 
arm  of  the  s^iannina,  and  advancing  towards  the  couple,  engaged 
in  munching  their  supper,  entreated  pardon  for  the  interruption, 
and  inquired  what  road  they  were  to  take  on  quitting  Turin. 

"To  Alexandria,  my  pretty  maid,"  replied  the  woman,  starting 
at  the  question. 

"  To  Alexandria  !  'Twas  then  my  guardian  angel  who  brought 
you  hither  1"  cried  Teresa,  overjoyed. 

"  1  wish  he  had  picked  out  a  better  road,  then,  signorina," 
cried  the  woman,  "  for  we  are  all  but  ground  to  powder !" 

"  But  what  do  you  want  with  us?  How  can  we  serve  you?" 
interrupted  the  man. 

"  Urgent  business  carries  me  to  Alexandria.  Can  you  give  me 
a  cast?"  inquired  Teresa. 

"Out  of  the  question,"  said  the  wife. 

"  I  will  pay  you  handsomely ;  two  pieces  of  St.  John  the  Bap- 
tist; that  is,  ten  livres  of  France." 

"I  don't  know  how  we  could  manage  it,"  observed  the  man. 
"  In  the  first  place,  the  bench  is  so  narrov?  that  it  will  be  scarcely 
possible  to  sit  three;  though  I  own,  signorina,  'tis  no  great  mat- 
ter of  room  you  will  take  up.  In  the  next  place,  we  are  going 
only  as  far  as  the  3Icrrato  of  Renigano,  near  Asti,  which  is  only 
half-way  to  Alexandria." 

"  No  matter,"  cried  Teresa;  "  convey  m-e  only  so  far  as  to  the 
gates  of  Asti.  But  we  must  set  out  this  very  night  —  this  very 
moment." 

"Impossible!  quite  impossible!"  exclaimed  both  husband  and 
wife  at  the  same  moment.  "  We  made  no  bargain  of  our  night's 
rest." 

"  The  sum  shall  be  doubled,"  said  Teresa,  in  a  lower  voice, 
'  if  you  will  only  oblige  me." 

The  man  and  the  woman  interchanged  looks  of  interrogation. 


50  PICCI  O  L  A. 

"No,"  cried  the  wife,  at  last;  "  we  shall  fall  ill  of  fatigue  on  the 
road.  Besides,  Losca  and  Zoppa  want  rest.  Do  you  wist'  to  kill 
the  poor  mules?" 

"  Four  pieces,  remember !"  murmured  the  husband.  "  Four 
pieces !" 

"  What  is  that  to  the  value  of  Losca  and  Zoppa  !" 

"  Double  price,  recollect,  for  only  half  the  fare,  and  no  danger 
(o  the  beasts." 

"  Pho  !  pho !  a  single  Venetian  sequin-  is  worth  two  parpaiole 
of  Genoa." 

Nevertheless,  the  notion  of  four  crowns  to  be  earned  so  easily 
was  not  without  its  charm  for  either  wife  or  husband,  and  at  last, 
after  farther  objections  on  one  side,  and  supplications  on  the  other, 
the  mules  were  brought  out  and  re-harnessed.  Teresa,  enveloped 
in  her  mantle,  to  protect  her  from  the  night  air,  arranged  herself 
as  well  as  she  could  on  the  bench  between  the  grumbling  couple; 
and  at  length  they  set  off  on  their  expedition.  All  the  clocks  in 
Turin  were  striking  eleven  as  they  passed  the  gate  of  the  city. 

In  her  impatience  to  arrive  and  procure  good  tidings  for  trans- 
mission to  Fenestrella,  Teresa  would  fain  have  found  herself  car- 
ried away  by  the  speed  of  impetuous  coursers  towards  Alexandria. 
But  alas!  the  vehicle  in  which  she  had  secured  a  place  lumbered 
heavily  along  the  road.  The  mules  paced  steadily  along,  lifting 
their  legs  with  measured  precision,  so  as  to  put  in  motion  the  little 
chime  of  bells,  which  imparted  a  still  cooler  character  to  the  non- 
chalance of  their  movements.  For  some  time,  indeed,  the  fair 
traveller  took  patience,  hoping  the  animals  would  become  gradu- 
ally excited,  or  that  the  driver  might  urge  them  with  a  touch  of 
the  whip.  But  finding  his  incitement  limited  to  a  slight  clicking 
of  the  tongue,  she  at  length  took  courage  to  inform  him  that  it 
was  essential  to  make  all  speed  towards  Asti,  that  she  might  ar- 
rive by  day-break  at  Alexandria. 

"  Take  my  word  for  it,  my  pretty  maid,"  replied  the  man,  "  that 
'tis  not  a  whit  more  amusing  to  us  than  to  yourself,  to  pass  the 
night  in  counting  the  stars.  But  the  cobbler  must  stick  to  his 
last.  My  cargo,  young  lady,  consists  of  crockery  ware,  which  I 
am  conveying  for  sale  to  the  fair  of  Renigano,  and  if  my  mules 
were  to  take  to  the  trot,  I  should  have  only  potsherds  to  produce 
It  the  end  of  my  journey." 

"Are  you,  then,  a  crockery  merchant?"  exclaimed  Teresa,  in 
a  tone  of  consternation. 

"  China  merchants,"  remonstrated  the  wife. 

"Alas!  alas!"  exclaimed  the  disappointed  girl,  —  "is  it  then 
nnpossible  for  you  to  go  a  little  faster?" 

"  Except  by  knocking  to  pieces  my  whole  freight." 

"  It  is  so  important  for  me  to  arrive  in  time  at  Alexandria!" 


P  I  C  C  I  O  L  A  .  61 

"  And  for  us  to  keep  an  eye  to  our  goods." 

As  an  act  of  concession,  however,  he  condescended  to  bestow 
a  few  additional  clickings  upon  his  beasts;  but  the  mules  were 
too  well  broken  to  their  pace,  to  risk  their  master's  property  by 
quickening  their  speed. 

Teresa  now  began  to  reproach  herself  with  inconsideration,  "in 
not  having  acquainted  herself  with  the  length  of  time  necessary 
to  reach  Asti,  or  personally  attempted  to  discover  in  Turin  some 
more  expeditious  mode  of  conveyance.  But  she  had  nothing  now 
left  for  it  but  patience !  The  vehicle  jogged  on  at  its  accustomed 
rate,  Losca  and  Zoppa  soon  managed  to  take  the  soft  sides  of  the 
road,  avoiding  the  rough  jumbling  of  the  pavement ;  and  at  length, 
the  merchant  and  his  wife,  after  a  few  mutual  consultations  re- 
specting their  chance  of  success  at  the  fair  of  Renigano,  relapsed 
into  silence ;  in  the  midst  of  which,  soothed  by  the  darkness,  op- 
pressed by  the  cold,  and  lulled  by  the  monotonous  tinkling  of  the 
mule-bells,  Teresa  was  overpowered  with  drowsiness.  Her  head, 
which  wandered  in  search  (»f  a  resting-place  from  the  shoulder  of 
the  driver  to  that  of  his  wife,  at  length  inclined  heavily  on  her 
own  bosom. 

**  Lean  upon  me,  my  poor  child  ;  and  happy  dreams  to  you  !" 
said  the  man,  in  a  compassionate  tone;  and  having  accepted  his 
offer,  the  overwearied  Teresa  was  soon  in  a  deep  sleep. 

When  she  opened  her  eyes  again,  daylight  was  shining  brightly 
upon  her  !  Startled  to  find  herself  in  the  open  air,  on  the  high 
road,  she  strove  to  recall  her  bewildered  recollections;  and  on 
attaining  perfect  consciousness,  perceived  with  horror  thjt  the 
vehicle  was  standing  still,  and  appeared  to  have  been  some  time 
stationary.  The  merchant,  his  wife,  the  very  mules  were  fast 
asleep;  not  the  slightest  sound  proceeded  from  the  chime  of 
bells! 

Teresa  now  perceived  at  some  distance  on  the  road  they  had 
been  traversing,  the  pinnacles  of  several  steeples;  and  through 
the  fantastic  grouping  of  the  morning  mists,  fancied  she  could 
discern  the  heights  of  the  Superga,  the  Chateau  of  Mille  Fiori, 
the  Vigna  della  Regiiia,  the  Church  of  the  Capuchins,  all  the  rich 
adornments  of  tlie  noble  hills  overhanging  Turin. 

"Merciful  Heaven!"  vociferated  the  poor  girl,  —  "we  have 
scarcely  got  beyond  the  suburbs!" 

Roused  by  this  exclamation,  the  driver  rubbed  his  eyes  and 
hastened  to  reassure  her.  "  We  are  approaching  Asti,"  said  he. 
"  The  steeples  you  see  behind  you  are  those  of  Renigano.  No 
cause  to  find  fault  with  Losca  and  Zoppa ;  they  can  only  just  have 
begun  their  nap.  Poor  beasts  ! — they  have  earned  their  rest  hardly. 
Heaven  send  they  may  not  have  profited  by  mine,  to  make  a  trot 


82  P  I  C  C  I  0  L  A  . 

of  it.  Teresa  smiled.  "  Gee  ! — away  with  y-ju,  jades  !"  he  con- 
tinued, with  a  crack  of  the  whip  which  awoke  both  his  wife  and 
the  mules.  And  soon  afterwards,  at  the  gates  of  Asti,  the  worthy 
china-man  took  leave  of  his  passenger,  assisted  her  to  alight,  and 
after  signing  the  cross  over  the  twenty  livres  he  received  for  her 
fare,  turned  straight  round  with  his  mules,  and  made  off  delibe- 
rately for  Renigano. 

Half  of  her  way  to  Alexandria  was  thus  accomplished ;  but, 
alas!  it  was  now  scarcely  possible  to  arrive  in  time  for  the  levee 
of  the  Emperor.  "  Yet  no  doubt  an  Emperor  must  be  late  in 
rising!"  thought  Teresa;  and  oh!  how  she  longed  to  thrust  be- 
low the  horizon  again  the  sun  which  was  just  making  its  impor- 
tunate appearance  !  Expecting  that  every  thing  around  her  would 
bear  tokens  of  her  own  agitation,  she  fancied  the  whole  popula- 
tion of  Asti  must  be  already  astir,  in  preparation  for  a  journey  to 
Alexandria;  and  that  amid  the  confusion  of  carriages  and  carts 
about  to  take  the  road,  it  would  be  easy  to  secure  a  place  in  some 
public  conveyance. 

What,  therefore,  was  her  astonishment,  on  entering  the  town, 
to  find  the  streets  still  silent  and  deserted ;  and  the  sun  scarcely 
yet  high  enough  to  shine  on  more  than  the  roofs  of  the  highest 
houses  and  the  dome  of  tlie  church !  It  occurred  to  her  at  that 
moment,  that  one  of  her  maternal  relations  resided  at  Asti,  who 
might  render  her  assistance ;  and  perceiving  through  the  ground- 
floor  window  of  a  mean-looking  house,  the  red  glimmering  of  a 
fire,  she  knocked  and  ventured  to  inquire  her  way  to  the  abode 
of  her  kinsman.  A  harsh  voice  answered  her  through  the  window 
that,  for  the. last  three  months,  the  individual  in  question  had  been 
residing  at  his  country-house  at  IVIonbercello ;  and  thus  disap- 
pointed, and  alone  in  the  solitary  streets  of  a  strange  town,  Te- 
resa began  to  feel  terrified  and  uneasy.  To  reanimate  her  cou- 
rage, she  turned  towards  a  Madonna,  before  which,  in  an  adjoin- 
ing niche,  a  lamp  was  burning,  and  breathed  her  morning  prayer. 
Scarcely  had  she  concluded  her  orisons,  when  she  was  startled 
by  the  sound  of  approaching  footsteps,  and  a  man  soon  made  his 
appearance. 

"Can  you  tell  me  of  a  conveyance  to  Alexandria?"  said  she, 
civilly  accosting  the  stranger. 

"Too  late,  my  pretty  one !  every  cart  and  carriage  has  been 
bespoken  this  week  past!"  he  replied,  and  hastened  on  his  way. 

A  second  man  came  by,  to  whom  Teresa  ventured  to  address 
the  same  inquiry.  But  this  time,  the  answer  was  delivered  in  a 
harsh  and  reproving  tone. 

"You  want  to  be  running  after  the  French,  then,  razza  male, 
dctta?"  cried  he  ;  miking  off  after  his  companion. 


PIGGIOL  A.  83 

Teresa  stood  silent  and  intimidated  at  the  accusation.  At  last, 
perceiving  a  young  workman  singing  as  he  proceeded  gaily  to  his 
business,  slie  ventured  to  renew  her  inquiries. 

"Aha,  signorina !"  cried  lie,  in  a  tone  of  bantering,  "  you  must 
needs  make  one  in  the  battle,  eh?  But  there  will  be  little  room 
left  yonder  for  pretty  damsels ;  better  stay  with  us  here,  at  Asti. 
'Tis  a  fete  to-day.  The  dancing  will  begin  early  in  the  after- 
noon; and  the  drudi  ballarini  will  fall  to  breaking  each  other's 
heads,  to  have  you  for  a  partner.  Faith,  you  are  worth  the  trouble 
of  a  fight!     Eh  I  what  say  you  to  a  skirmish  in  your  honour?" 

And,  approaching  Teresa  Girardi,  he  was  about  to  throw  his 
arm  round  her  waist;  but,  startled  by  her  indignant  glance  and 
exclamation,  desisted,  and  resumed  his  song  and  his  occupation. 

A  fourth,  a  fifth,  now  traversed  the  street,  but  the  poor  girl  no 
lofiger  hazarded  an  inquiry  ;  but  kept  watching  every  openinor 
door,  and  peeping  into  every  courtyard  in  hopes  to  find  some  car- 
riage in  waiting.  At  length,  by  especial  favour,  she  managed  to 
obtain  a  place  as  far  as  Annone.  Between  Annone  and  Felizano 
—  between  Felizano  and  Alexandria  —  she  was  perplexed  by  a 
thousand  farther  difficulties.  But  with-  courage  and  perseverance, 
all  were  at  length  surmounted,  and  she  arrived  happily  at  Alex- 
andria. As  she  anticipated,  the  Emperor  had  already  taken  his 
departure  for  Marengo;  and  without  pausing  a  moment  for  de- 
liberation, she  followed  the  crowd  which  was  pouring  from  the 
suburbs  along  the  road  towards  the  field  of  battle. 

Hurried  on  with  the  multitude,  pressed  and  jostled  on  all  sides, 
watching  eagerly  for  openings  in  the  crowd,  skirting  the  outer- 
most edges  of  the  road,  Teresa  neglected  no  opportunity  of  push- 
ing forward.  Undisturbed  by  the  clamour  of  the  trumpets,  the 
sports  of  the  merry-andrews,  or  the  discourses  of  the  monks,  she 
pursued  her  way  in  the  midst  of  the  laughing,  yelling,  shouting 
populace,  which  went  leaping  on  in  the  heat  and  dust;  —  a  poor 
solitary  stranger,  apart  from  the  sports  and  the  joys  of  the  day, — 
her  countenance  anxious,  —  her  eye  haggard,  —  and  raising  her 
hand  at  intervals  to  wipe  away  the  dew  from  her  weary  brows. 

But  the  whole  force  and  fortitude  of  Teresa's  mind  were  de- 
voted to  her  progress.  She  has  scarcely  even  found  a  moment 
for  the  contemplation  of  the  firther  means  to  be  adopted.  But  a 
halt  being  suddenly  imposed  upon  the  crowd  on  reaching  the  out- 
skirts of  the  field,  she  began  to  reflect  on  the  uneasiness  the  pro- 
longation of  her  absence  would  cause  to  her  father  (since  the 
guide  who  had  deserted  her  at  Turin  would  not  be  permitted  to 
enter  the  prison).  She  thought  of  Charney  accusing  his  messen- 
ger of  neglect  and  indifference;  then  felt  for  the  petition  in  her 
bosom,  apprehensive  that,  by  some  unlucky  chance,  it  might  have 
escaped  her. 


84  F  I  C  C  I  0  L  A  . 

At  the  idea  of  her  father  grieving  over  the  unwonted  absence 
of  his  child,  tears  rushed  into  the  eyes  of  Teresa;  and  it  was 
from  a  reverie  produced  by  these  painful  emotions,  that  she  was 
recalled  to  herself  by  the  cries  of  joy  bursting  from  the  surround- 
ing multitude.  An  open  space  had  been  formed  just  beside  the 
spot  where  she  was  resting,  around  which  th  -  crowd  seemed  cir- 
cling ;  and  the  moment  Teresa  turned  her  head  to  ascertain  the 
cause  of  the  tumult,  her  hands  were  seized,  and  in  spite  of  her 
resistance,  her  depression,  her  fatigue,  she  found  herself  com- 
pelled to  take  part  in  nfarandold,  which  went  whirling  along  the 
road,  recruiting  all  the  pretty  girls  and  sprightly  lads  who  could 
be  involved  in  the  diversion. 

Vexatious  as  was  the  interruption,  Teresa  at  length  found 
means  to  disengage  herself  from  such  unsatisfactory  society  ;  and 
having  contrived  by  a  painful  effort  to  push  her  way  through  the 
crowd,  she  at  length  obtained  a  glimpse  of  the  vast  plain  glitter- 
ing with  troops;  and  her  eyes  having  wandered  for  some  minutes 
over  the  splendid  army,  paused  upon  the  little  hillock  occupied 
by  the  imperial  court.  At  the  sight  of  the  throne,  the  aim  and 
end  of  her  perilous  journey,  Teresa's  heart  leaped  for  joy ;  her 
courage  returned,  her  strength  seemed  renewed.  All  her  preced- 
ing cares  were  forgotten.  But  how  to  attain  the  wished-for  spot  ? 
How  to  traverse  those  battalions  of  men  and  horses  1  There  was 
madness  in  the  vey  project! 

But  thut  whicii  at  first  sight  presented  an  obstacle,  soon  appear- 
ed to  farther  her  intentions.  The  foremost  ranks  of  the  crowd 
pouring  in  torrents  from  Alexandria,  having  deployed  to  the  right 
and  left,  on  reaching  the  plain,  were  gradually  gaining  the  banks 
of  the  Tanaro  and  the  Bormida ;  where,  at  one  moment,  they 
pushed  on  so  impetuously  as  to  seem  on  the  point  of  taking  pos- 
session of  the  field  of  battle.  A  small  body  of  cavalry  instantly 
galloped  towards  the  spot,  waving  their  naked  sabres,  and  by 
the  plunging  of  their  chargers  causing  the  terrified  crowd  to  re- 
turn to  the  limits  assigned  them.  The  intruders  evacuated  the 
territory  as  rapidly  as  they  had  gained  it,  with  the  exception  of  a 
single  individual : — that  individual  was  Teresa  Girardi ! 

In  an  adjacent  hollow  of  the  plain,  surrounded  by  a  strong- 
quickset  hedge,  and  sheltered  by  a  small  thicket  of  trees,  flowed 
a  spring  of  limpid  water;  towards  which,  thrust  onwards  by  the 
crowd  of  spectators,  the  poor  girl,  whose  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
tlie  throne  in  the  distance,  found  herself  irresistibly  impelled. 
Apprehensive  every  moment  of  being  crushed  in  the  throng,  she 
seized  in  her  arms  the  trunk  of  the  nearest  poplar  tree;  and  clos- 
mg  her  eyes,  like  a  child  who  fancies  the  danger  has  ceased  to 
exist  which  it  is  not  obliged  to  look  upon, — remained  motionless, 
her  hearing  confused  by  the  rustling  of  the  surrounding  foliage 


P  I  C  C:  I  O  I,  A .  95 

The  advance  ami  retreat  of  the  mob  was,  in  fact,  so  instantane- 
ous, that  when  Teresa  re-opened  her  eyes,  she  was  quite  alone, 
separated  from  the  troops  by  the  hedge  and  thicket,  and  from  the 
crowd  by  a  column  of  dust,  produced  by  the  last  detachment  of 
fugitives.  'J'hrowing  herself  at  once  into  the  little  copse,  she 
found  herself  in  the  centre  of  about  twenty  poplar  and  aspen 
trees,  overshadowing  a  crystal  spring,  welling  out  of  the  ground 
over  a  bed  of  ivy,  moss  and  celandine,  till,  bubbling  onward  in  a 
silver  thread,  it  gradually  formed  a  brook  capable  of  traversing 
the  plain,  over  which  its  course  was  defined  by  painted  tufts  of 
blue  forget-me-not,  and  the  clusters  of  the  white  ranunculus. 
The  refreshing  exhalations  of  the  shady  spot  assisted  to  restore 
the  self-possession  and  strength  of  the  exhausted  girl.  Teresa 
felt  as  though  she  had  reached  an  oasis  of  verdure  in  the  desert, 
sheltered  from  dust,  and  heat,  and  disturbance. 

Meanwhile  the  plain  has  become  suddenly  quiet;  she  hears 
neither  the  word  of  command,  the  huzza  of  the  crowd,  nor  the 
neighing  of  the  horses.  All  she  can  discern  is  a  singular  move- 
ment overhead  ;  and,  looking  up,  Teresa  perceives  every  bough 
and  spray  of  the  tre^s  to  be  covered  with  flights  of  sparrows, 
driven  to  shelter  from  all  quarters  of  the  plain  by  the  alarrninnr 
movement  of  the  troops  and  the  incursions  of  the  crowd.  The 
poor  birds,  like  the  poor  girl  contemplating  them,  have  taken 
refuge  in  that  verdant  solitude,  their  little  wings  and  throats  ap- 
parently paralysed  by  affright ;  for  not  a  sound  breaks  from  the 
band  of  feathered  fugitives.  Even  on  the  advance  of  a  brigade 
of  cavalry  towards  the  thicket,  accompanied  by  the  braying  of 
trumpets,  not  a  bird  is  seen  to  stir.  They  appear  to  wait  anx- 
iously for  the  result;  while  a  similar  feeling  prompts  Girardi's 
daughter  to  look  through  the  foliage  upon  the  field. 

Her  eyes  are  quickly  attracted  by  files  of  troops,  which  appear 
to  have  cut  off  all  communication  between  the  thicket  and  the 
road. 

"After  all,"  thought  the  trembling  Teresa,  "  it  is  but  a  sham- 
fight  that  is  about  to  take  place;  and  if  I  have  been  imprudent  in 
venturing  hither,  the  Almighty,  who  knows  the  innocence  of  my 
heart,  will  keep  me  in  time  of  trouble!" 

And,  directing  her  attention  through  the  opposite  extremity  of 
(he  thicket,  she  discerns,  at  the  distance  of  about  three  hundred 
paces,  the  throne  of  Josephine  and  Napoleon.  The  space  between, 
is  occupied  by  the  mancEuvres  of  the  soldiers;  but  every  now  ana 
then,  the  ground  is  sufficiently  cleared  to  admit  of  passing.  Teresa 
now  takes  courage ! — she  feels  that  a  decisive  moment  is  at  hand. 
Having  opened  a  way  through  the  hedge,  she  is  about  to  advance, 
when  the  disorder  of  her  toilet  suddenly  occurring  to  her  mind, 
brings  blushes  into  her  cheeks.  Her  tresses,  unbraided  and  di- 
8 


80  1  I  C  C  I  O  L  A  . 

shevelled,  are  floating  over  her  shoulders;  her  hands,  her  face,  her 
person,  are  disfigurjcd  with  dust.  To  present  herself  in  such  a 
condition  before  the  sovereigns  of  Italy  and  France,  were  perhaps 
to  insure  her  rejection,  and  the  failure  of  her  anxious  mission. 

Re-entering  the  thicket,  therefore,  and  drawing  near  to  the 
spring,  she  unties  her  large  Leghorn  hat,  shakes  out  and  smooths 
down  her  raven  hair,  braids  up  the  flowing  tresses,  bathes  her 
hands  and  face ;  and,  having  completed  her  morning  toilet, 
breathes  a  prayer  to  Heaven  for  its  blessing  upon  the  merciful 
purpose  which  has  cast  her,  thus  defenceless,  into  the  ranks  of  an 
army. 

While  watching  for  an  auspicious  moment  to  recommence  her 
course,  the  stunning  detonations  of  the  cannon  roar,  from  twenty 
different  points,  into  her  ears.  The  srround  seems  to  tremble 
under  her  feet;  and,  while  the  poor  girl  stands  motionless  with 
consternation,  the  scared  birds,  fluttering  from  the  trees  above, 
with  discordant  cries  and  bewildered  wings,  make  off  for  the 
woods  of  Valpedo  and  Voghera. 

The  fight  has  begun !  Teresa,  deafened  by  the  roar  of  artillery 
and  the  universal  clamour,  stands  transfixed,  gazing  towards  the 
throne,  which  is  sometimes  concealed  from  her  by  clouds  of  smoke ; 
sometimes  by  a  screen  of  lances  or  bayonets. 

After  the  lapse  of  half  an  hour,  during  which  every  idea  seemed 
to  abandon  her  mind,  but  that  of  indescribable  terror,  the  energy 
of  her  soul  resumed  its  force.  She  examined,  with  greater  com- 
posure, the  obstacles  with  which  she  is  beset ;  and  decided  that  it 
may  still  be  possible  to  attain  the  imperial  throne.  Two  columns 
of  infantry,  prolonged  into  a  double  line,  to  which  the  flanks  of 
the  thicket  form  a  centre,  were  beginning  to  engage  in  an  ani- 
mated fire  upon  each  other.  Under  cover  of  the  clouds  of  smoke, 
she  trusted  to  make  her  way  between  them,  unobserved.  Still, 
however,  Teresa  trembled  at  the  attempt,  when  a  troop  of  hussars, 
burning  with  thirst,  suddenly  invaded  her  asylum,  and  the  maiden 
hesitated  no  longer.  Her  courage  was  roused,  the  moment  her 
modesty  took  the  alarm.  She  rushed  forth  at  once  between  two 
columns  of  infantry;  and  when  the  smoke  began  to  subside,  the 
soldiers  raised  a  cry  of  astonishment,  on  perceiving  in  the  midst 
of  them,  the  white  dress  and  straw  hat  of  a  young  girl, — a  young 
and  pretty  Piedmontese, — whom  each  made  it  his  immediate  busi- 
ness to  capture. 

At  that  moment,  a  squadron  of  cuirassiers  was  galloping  up  to 
re-enforce  one  of  the  lines;  the  captain  of  which  was  on  the  point 
of  trampling  down  the  unfortunate  Teresa ;  but,  pulling  up  his 
horse  in  time,  he  gave  her  in  charge  to  two  soldiers  of  the  line; 
not,  however,  without  a  few  oaths  and  great  wonder  at  such  an 
apparition  on  the  field  of  battle. 


P  I  C  C  I  O  L  A . 


87 


One  of  the  two  cuirassiers  deputed  to  escort  her  to  quarters, 
quickly  raised  her  to  his  saddle;  and  it  was  thus  she  was  conveyed 
to  the  rear  of  the  hillock,  where  a  few  ladies  belonging  to  the  suite 
of  the  Empress  were  stationed,  accompanied  by  an  aid-de-camp 
and  the  corps  diplomatique  of  the  Italian  deputations. 

Teresa  now  fancied  that  her  enterprise  was  accomplished.  She 
had  surmounted  too  many  difficulties  to  be  discouraged  by  the  few 
remaining;  and  when,  on  her  demand  to  be  admitted  to  the  Em- 
peror, she  was  infonricd  that  he  was  on  the  field,  at  the  head  of 
the  troops,  she  entreated  an  audience  of  the  Empress.  But  this 
request  appeared  no  less  inadmissible  than  the  other.  To  get  rid 
of  her  importunities,  the  by-standers  had  recourse  to  intimidation, 
and  Teresa's  courage  rose  against  their  efforts.  They  insisted 
that  she  should  at  least  wait  the  conclusion  of  the  evolutions;  and 
w^ere  astonished  to  find  her  persist  in  forcing  her  way  towards  the 
throne.  Detained  and  threatened,  her  struggles  became  the  more 
vehement.  It  was  then  that,  raising  her  voice  in  self-defence,  its 
piteous  accents  reached  the  ear  of  Josephine,  to  which  the  voice 
of  a  female  in  distress  and  appealing  to  her  protection,  were  never 
known  to  be  addressed  in  vain. 


08  P I  C  C  1  O  L  A , 


CHAPTER    III. 


Scarcely  were  the  commands  of  the  Empress  issued  that  no 
farther  obstruction  should  be  offered  to  the  young  stranger,  when 
the  brilliant  crowd  opened,  to  yield  a  passage  to  Teresa  Girardi, 
who  appeared  in  the  midst  of  the  throng,  in  a  suppliant  attitude, 
as  if  scarcely  aware  of  being  released  from  the  detention  of  her 
captors. 

But  on  a  sign  from  Josephine — a  gracious  sign,  instantly  recog- 
nised by  those  around  as  a  token  of  indulgence — the  young  Pied- 
montese  was  set  at  liberty;  and,  on  finding  herself  free,  Teresa 
rushed  to  the  foot  of  the  throne,  breathless  with  agitation,  and, 
bending  low  before  the  Empress,  proceeded  to  unfold  a  handker- 
chief which  she  had  taken  from  her  bosom. 

"A  poor  prisoner,  madam,"  said  she,  "  implores  the  clemency 
of  your  majesty."  But,  with  every  disposition  to  indulgence,  it 
was  impossible  for  the  Empress  to  divine  the  meaning  of  the 
strange-looking  handkerchief  which  Teresa  Girardi,  sinking  on 
one  knee,  tendered  to  her  hands. 

"Have  you  a  petition  to  present  to  me?"  demanded  Josephine 
at  last,  of  the  trembling  girl,  in  a  tone  of  encouragement. 

"  This,  madam,  is  a  petition  ;  this  is  the  memorial  of  an  unfortu- 
nate captive !"  persisted  Teresa,  still  holding  up  the  handkerchief 
But  tears  of  terror  and  anxiety,  flowing  down  her  cheeks,  almost 
concealed  the  smile  which  the  gracious  affability  of  the  Empress 
had  for  a  moment  called  into  existence. 

"Rise,  my  poor  girl,  rise!"  said  Josephine,  in  a  tone  of  com- 
passion. "  You  appear  deeply  interested  in  the  welfare  of  the 
petitioner !" 

Teresa  blushed,  and  hung  down  her  head.  "  I  have  never  even 
spoken  to  him,  madam,"  she  replied  :  "  but  he  is  so  deserving  of 
pity !  If  your  majesty  would  deign  to  read  the  statement  of  his 
misfortunes — " 

Josephine  now  unfolded  the  handkerchief,  touched  to  the  heart 
by  the  evidence  of  misery  and  destitution  conveyed  in  such  a  sub- 
stitute for  writing-paper.  Pausing,  however,  after  she  had  perused 
the  first  line  of  the  petition,  she  exclaimed,  "  But  this  is  addressed 
to  the  emperor  1" 

"And  are  you  not  his  wife?"  cried  Teresa.  "  Deign,  deign  to 
read  on  !  Every  moment  is  of  consequence.  Indeed,  there  is  no 
time  to  be  lost !" 

The  fight  was  now  at  the  hottest.     The  Hungarian  column, 


P  I  C  C  I  O  L  A  .  39 

though  exposed  to  the  severe  fire  of  Marmont's  artillery,  was  for- 
midable in  its  movements  :  Zach  and  Dessaix  were  face  to  face  , 
and  the  result  of  their  encounter  was  to  decide  the  destinies  of 
the  battle.  The  cannonade  became  general :  the  field  seemed  to 
vomit  flames  and  smoke;  while  the  clamour  of  the  soldiers, 
uniting  with  the  clang  of  arms,  and  call  of  trumpets,  agitated  the 
air  like  a  tempest.  And  it  was  while  all  this  was  proceeding 
around  her,  that  the  Empress  attempted  to  give  her  attention  to 
the  following  lines  : — 

"  Sire— 

"The  removal  of  two  stones  from  the  pavement  of  the  court  of 
my  prison  will  scarcely  shake  the  foundation  of  your  empire;  and 
such  is  the  favour  I  presume  to  ask  of  your  majesty.  It  is  not  for 
myself  I  appeal  to  your  protection.  But  in  the  stony  desert  in 
which  I  am  expiating  my  offences  against  your  government,  a  single 
living  thing  has  solaced  my  sufferings,  and  shed  a  charm  over  my 
gloomy  existence!  A  plant  —  a  flower  springing  spontaneously 
among  the  stones  of  Fenestrella,  is  the  object  of  ray  solicitude. 
Let  not  your  majesty  accuse  me  of  folly — of  madness;  it  needs  to 
have  been  a  prisoner,  to  appreciate  the  value  of  such  a  friend.  To 
this  poor  flower  am  I  indebted  for  discoveries  which  have  dispelled 
the  n)ists  of  error  from  my  eyes,  for  my  restoration  to  reason,  for 
my  peace  of  mind,  nay,  for  my  very  life!  It  is  dear  to  me,  sire, 
as  glory  to  yourself 

"  Yet,  at  this  moment,  my  precious  plant  is  perishing  before 
my  eyes,  for  want  of  a  little  space  for  the  expansion  of  its  roots; 
and  the  Commandant  of  Fenestrella  would  fain  submit  to  the 
Governor  of  Turin  my  petition  for  the  removal  of  the  two  misera- 
ble stones  that  impede  its  growth.  By  the  time  that  wisdom  has 
decided  the  question,  the  plant  will  be  dead  ;  and  it  is  therefore  to 
your  compassion,  sire,  I  appeal  for  the  preservation  of  my  plant. 
Issue  orders  that  may  yet  preserve  it  from  destruction,  and  myself 
from  despair. — I  implore  it  on  my  bended  knees;  and  should  you 
deign  to  favour  my  suit,  the  benefit  vouchsafed  by  your  majesty 
shall  be  recorded  in  the  inmost  depths  of  my  heart ! 

"  I  admit,  sire,  that  this  poor  plant  has  softened  the  vengeance 
doomed  by  your  majesty  to  fall  upon  my  devoted  head  ;  but  it  has 
also  subdued  my  pride,  and  cast  me  a  suppliant  at  your  feet.  From 
the  height  of  your  double  throne,  deign,  therefore,  to  extend  a 
pitying  glance  towards  us.  It  is  not  fbr  your  majesty  to  appre- 
ciate the  power  exercised  by  solitary  confinement  over  even  the 
strongest  heart,  the  most  iron  fortitude.  I  do  not  complain  of  my 
captivity  ;  I  support  my  sentence  with  resignation.  Be  its  duration 
is  that  of  my  own  life;  but  spare,  oh,  spare  my  plant! 

'•  The  favour  I  thus  presume  to  implore,  must  be  conceded, 
8* 


90  P  I  C  C  I  O  L  A . 

sire,  on  the  spot,  without  the  delay  of  a  single  hour !  On  the 
brow  of  the  human  criminal,  justice  may  hold  her  sword  suspend- 
ed, in  order  to  enhance  the  after-sentence  of  pardon;  but  nature's 
laws  are  more  prompt  in  their  operation.  Delay  but  a  single  day, 
and  even  the  mighty  power  of  your  majesty  will  be  unavailing  to 
farther  the  petition  of  the  prisoner  of  Fenestrella. 

"  Charney." 

At  that  instant,  a  sudden  discharge  of  artillery  seemed  to  rend 
asunder  the  atmosphere,  and  immediately  the  thick  smoke,  cut 
into  circles  and  lozenges  by  the  thousand  lightnings  of  the  dis- 
charge, seemed  to  cover  the  field  with  a  network  of  light  and 
shade.  But  on  the  cessation  of  the  firing,  the  curtain  of  smoke 
seemed  gradually  drawn  aside;  and  a  brilliant  spectacle  was  given 
to  view,  sparkling  under  the  radiance  of  the  sun, — even  that  noble 
charge,  in  the  original  of  which  Desaix  lost  his  life.  Zach  and 
his  Hungarians,  repulsed  in  front  by  Bondet,  harassed  on  the  left 
flank  by  the  cavalry  of  Kellermann,  were  already  thrown  into  dis- 
order :  after  which,  the  intrepid  consul,  re-establishing  his  line  of 
battle  from  Castel-Ceriola  to  St.  Julian,  resumed  the  offensive, 
overthrew  the  imperialists  at  every  point,  and  forced  Melas  to  a 
speedy  retreat. 

'I'his  sudden  change  of  position,  these  grand  movements  of  the 
army,  this  flux  and  reflux  of  the  human  tide,  at  the  command  of 
a  single  voice,  the  voice  of  a  chief,  motionless  and  calm  in  the 
midst  of  the  general  disorder,  might  have  sufficed  to  produce  an 
impression  on  the  coldest  imagination.  From  the  groups  sur- 
rounding the  throne,  accordingly,  burst  cries  of  triumph,  and  ex- 
ulting acclamations;  when  the  Empress,  startled  by  the  contrast 
aff"orded  by  these  "  vivats"  to  the  hoarse  uproar  of  the  battle-field, 
was  instantly  roused  from  her  reverie  to  a  sense  of  what  was  pass- 
ing around  her.  For  to  all  those  brilliant  manoeuvres  and  im- 
posing spectacles,  the  future  Queen  of  Italy  had  remained  insen- 
sible; her  feelings  and  looks  alike  preoccupied  by  the  extraordi- 
nary memorial  that  still  fluttered  in  her  hand. 

Teresa  Girardi,  meanwhile,  attentive  to  every  gesture  of  the 
Empress,  felt  instantaneously  reassured  by  the  soft  smile  of  sym- 
pathy which  overspread  the  countenance  of  Josephine  while  pe- 
rusing the  petition.  With  a  beating  heart,  she  stooped  to  imprint 
a  grateful  kiss  on  the  hand  extended  towards  her,  a  hand  how  pu- 
issant amid  all  its  fragile  fairness,  for  on  its  slender  finger  glit- 
tered the  nuptial  ring  of  Napoleon! 

Dismissed  by  this  gracious  movement  from  the  presence  of  the 
Empress,  Teresa  now  hastened  towards  the  women's  quarters: 
and  as  soon  as  the  field  of  Marengo  was  cleared  of  its  multitudes, 
proceeded  to  the  nearest  chapel,  to  tender  to  her  sovereign  pro- 


PICCIOL  A.  91 

tectress,  the  Holy  Virgin,  an  offering  of  prayer  and  tears,  the 
token  of  her  heartfelt  gratitude;  for  in  the  condescension  of  Jo- 
sephine she  fancied  she  had  obtained  a  pledge  for  the  eventual 
fulfilment  of  her  wishes. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

The  sympathy  of  the  Empress-Q,ueen  had  been,  in  fact,  warmly 
excited  by  the  memorial  of  the  captive  of  Fenestrella.  Every  word 
of  the  petition  conveyed  the  most  touching  appeal  to  her  feelings. 
Josephine  herself  was  an  almost  idolatrous  lover  of  flowers ;  as 
the  permanent  advantages  derived  in  France  from  her  liberal  en- 
couragement of  botanical  science  and  patronage  of  its  professors, 
continue  to  attest.  Escaping  from  the  cares  and  splendours  of 
sovereignty,  often  did  the  empress  recede  from  the  courtier  throng, 
to  watch  the  expansion  of  some  rare  exotic,  in  her  fine  conserva- 
tories at  Malmaison.  There  was  the  fjivourite  empire  of  Josephine  ! 
She  loved  the  imperial  purple  of  the  rich  cactus,  at  that  period  a 
splendid  novelty  to  European  eyes,  better  than  the  hues  of  the 
rich  mantle  adorning  her  throne ;  and  the  delicate  fragrance  of 
her  clustering  magnolias,  proved  more  intoxicating  than  the  sooth- 
ing but  fatal  breath  of  courtly  adulation.  At  Malmaison  she 
reigned  despotic  over  thousands  of  beauteous  subjects,  collected 
from  all  quarters  of  the  globe.  She  knew  them  fiice  by  Aice,  name 
by  name; — was  fond  of  disposing  them  in  classes,  castes,  or  regi- 
ments; and  when  some  fresh  subject  presented  itself  for  the  first 
time  at  her  levee,  was  able  to  interrogate  the  new-comer,  so  as  to 
ascertain  his  family  and  connexions,  and  assign  him  an  appropri- 
ate station  in  the  community  of  which  every  brigade  had  its  ban- 
ner, and  every  banner  a  fitting  standard-bearer. 

Following  the  example  of  Napoleon,  she  respected  the  laws  and 
customs  of  those  she  rendered  tributary.  Plants  of  all  countries 
found  their  native  soil  and  climate  restored  to  them  by  her  provi- 
dence. Malmaison  was  a  world  in  miniature;  within  whose  cir- 
cumscribed limits  were  to  be  found  rocks  and  savannahs,  —  the 
soil  of  virgin  forests  and  the  sand  of  the  desert,  —  banks  of  marl 
or  clay, — lakes,  cascades,  and  strands  liable  to  inundation.  From 
the  heat  of  a  tropical  climate,  you  might  fly  to  the  refreshing  cool- 
ness of  the  temperate  zone;  and  in  these  varied  specimens  of  at- 
mosphere and  soil,  flourished,  side  by  side,  the  various  races  of 
vegetative  kind,  divided  only  by  green  edges  or  an  intrenchment 
^f  glass  windows. 

When  Josephine  held  her  field-days  at  Malmaison,  the  review 


92  PICCIOLA. 

was  indeed  calculated  to  excite  the  tenderest  associations.  First 
in  the  ranks  was  the  hydrangea,  which  had  recently  borrowed 
from  her  charming  daughter  its  French  name  of  Hortensia.  Glory, 
too,  found  its  reminiscences  there,  as  well  as  maternal  affcvition. 
Following  the  victories  of  Bonaparte,  she  contrived  to  reap  her 
share  in  the  plunder  of  conquered  countries;  and  Italy  and  Egypt 
paid  tribute  to  her  triumphant  parterres.  Blooming  in  resplendent 
union  at  Malmaison  were  the  soldanella  of  the  Alps, — the  violet 
of  Parma, — the  adonis  of  Castiglione, — the  carnation  of  Lodi, — 
the  willow  and  plane  of  Syria, — the  cross  of  Malta, — the  water- 
lily  of  the  Nile, — the  hibiscus  of  Palestine, — the  rose  of  Damietta. 
Such  were  the  conquests  of  Josephine :  and  of  those,  at  least, 
France  still  retains  the  benefits! 

But  even  in  the  midst  of  these  treasures,  Josephine  still  culti- 
vated, by  predilection,  a  plant  reminding  her  of  her  days  of  happy 
childhood ;  that  beautiful  jasmine  of  Martinique,  whose  seeds, 
gathered  and  resown  by  her  own  hand,  served  to  bring  to  her  re- 
collection not  only  the  sports  of  girlhood  and  the  roof  of  her 
fathers,  but  her  earliest  home  of  wedded  love. 

With  such  pursuits  and  attachments,  how  could  she  fail  to  ap- 
preciate the  passion  of  the  prisojier  for  his  flower, — his  only  flower, 
—  his  only  companion  !  The  widow  of  Beauharnais  was  not  al- 
ways the  happy  and  prosperous  inmate  of  a  consular  or  imperial 
palace.  Josephine  has  herself  tasted  the  bitterness  of  captivity; 
and  the  lesson  is  not  thrown  away. 

Nor  has  she  altogether  forgotten  the  brilliant,  successful,  but 
proud  and  insouciant  Count  de  Charney ;  formerly  so  contemptu- 
ous amid  the  pleasures  of  the  world,  and  so  incredulous  in  the 
existence  of  h':;man  affections.  To  what  is  she  to  attribute  the 
singular  change  in  his  style  and  temper?  What  influence  has  suf- 
ficed to  soften  that  haughty  character?  He,  who  once  refused  the 
homage  of  his  knee  to  the  Most  High,  now  kneels  to  a  human 
throne  to  supplicate  in  utmost  humility  for  the  preservation  of  a 
plant! 

"  The  flower  which  has  wrought  so  great  a  miracle,"  thought 
the  Empress,  with  a  smile,  "  deserves  to  be  preserved  from  de- 
struction !"  And  eager  to  accomplish  her  benevolent  purpose,  she 
grew  impatient  of  the  protraction  of  the  fight,  and  would  fain  have 
put  an  end  to  the  last  evolutions,  in  order  to  hasten  her  measures 
m  favour  of  her  petitioner. 

The  moment  Napoleon,  surrounded  by  his  generals,  made  his 
reappearance,  exhausted  by  his  exertions,  and  doubtless  expecting 
compliments  from  her  lips,  the  Empress  presented  the  handker- 
chief to  his  astonished  eyes, — exclaiming, — "An  order  from  your 
hand,  sire ;  an  order  for  the  commandant  of  Fenestrella !  and  an 
express  to  despatch  it  to  the  fortress '" 


P  I  C  C  I  O  L  A  .  93 

In  the  earnestness  of  her  purpose,  her  voice  assumed  an  im- 
perial tone,  and  her  eyes  an  ex[)ression  of  impatience,  as  if  some 
new  conquest  were  within  re;ich,  and  it  w.\s  lur  turn  to  assume 
command  and  authority.  But  after  surveying  her  from  head  to 
foot  with  an  air  of  surprise  and  dissatisfaction,  the  Emperor  turned 
on  his  heel  and  passed  on  without  a  word.  As  if  still  reviewing 
his  troops,  he  appeared  only  to  be  finishing  his  inspection  by  tiie 
last  individual  of  the  brigade. 

Impelled  by  the  force  of  habit,  he  next  proceeded  to  examine 
the  field  of  action,  unmoistened  indeed  with  blood,  but  covered 
with  trophies  of  the  early  harvest,  cut  down  by  his  victorious 
troops:  —  fields  of  corn  and  rice  were  trampled  or  hacked  into 
chaff!  In  some  spots,  tlie  earth  itself  was  ploughed  into  deep 
channels  by  the  manoeuvres  of  the  artillery;  while  here  and  there, 
were  scattered  the  buff-leather  gloves  of  the  dragoons,  broken 
plumes,  or  shreds  of  gold  lace;  —  nay,  even  a  kvf  limping  fooi- 
soldiers  and  chargers,  lamed  in  the  affray,  still  encumbered  the 
ground. 

At  one  moment  of  the  day,  however,  more  serious  consequences 
than  these  appeared  imminent.  The  French  soldiers  appointed 
to  occupy,  as  Austrians,  the  village  of  Marengo,  resenting  the 
part  assigned  them  as  beaten  troops,  had  chosen  to  prolong  their 
resistance  beyond  the  period  specified  in  the  programme;  and  a 
violent  struggle  took  place  between  them  and  their  opponents. 
The  two  regiments  happened  to  be  irritated  against  each  other  by 
the  jealousies  of  garrison  rivalship;  and  mutual  insults  and  chal- 
lenges having  been  exchanged  on  the  spot,  bayonets  were  crossed 
in  earnest  between  the  two  corps. 

But  for  the  immediate  intervention  of  the  general  officers  pre- 
sent, a  terrible  contest  would  have  taken  place;  and  the  mimic 
fight  become  only  too  fatally  a  reality.  With  some  difficulty,  the 
troops  were  made  to  fraternise,  by  an  exchange  of  gourds;  and 
these  being  unluckily  empty,  in  order  to  perfect  the  reconcilia- 
tion, the  cellars  of  the  village  were  laid  under  contribution.  Ex- 
cess now  succeeded  to  obstinacy,  but  a  unanimous  cry  of  "  Vive 
L' Empercur"  having  been  fortunately  raised  by  the  men,  the  whole 
breach  of  discipline  was  placed  to  the  account  of  military  enthu- 
siasm ;  and,  after  twenty  healths  had  been  tossed  off,  the  gallant 
Austrians  consented  to  stagger  defeated  from  the  field ;  while  the 
victorious  French  made  their  triumphal  entry  into  Marengo, 
dancing  the  farandola,  singing  the  Marseillaise,  and  mingling 
occasionally  in  their  hurrahs,  the  now  forbidden  cry  of  ^'Vivc  la 
R^jmbliqur."  But  their  insubordination  was  now  justly  attributed 
to  the  enthusiasm  of  inteniperance. 

'I'he  troops  having  been  formed  once  more  into  line,  Napoleon 
proceeded  to  a  distribution  of  crosses  of  honour  among  the  old 


94  P  I  C  C  I  0  L  A  . 

soldiers,  who,  five  years  before,  had  fought  with  him  on  that 
memorable  spot,  A  kw  of  the  more  eminent  of  the  Cisalpine 
magistrates  also  received  decorations  on  the  field  :  after  which, 
accompanied  by  Josephine,  the  Emperor  laid  the  first  stone  of  a 
monument,  intended  to  perpetuate  the  victory  of  Marengo ;  and 
the  ceremonies  of  the  morning  accomplished,  the  whole  court, 
followed  by  the  whole  army,  took  their  way  back  towards  Alexan- 
dria. 

All  this  time  the  destinies  of  Picclola  remained  undecided ! 


CHAPTER    V. 

To  conclude  the  solemnities  of  the  day,  a  public  banquet  was 
offered  to  the  Emperor  and  Empress  by  the  city  of  Alexandria,  in 
the  Town  Hall,  which  was  splendidly  decorated  for  the  occasion; 
after  which,  their  majesties,  wearied  by  their  exertions,  retired  to 
pass  the  evening  in  one  of  the  private  apartments  allotted  to  their 
use.  The  Emperor  and  Empress  were  now  together,  attended 
only  by  the  secretary  of  the  former ;  and,  while  dictating  his 
despatches,  Napoleon  continued  to  pace  the  room,  rubbing  his 
hands  with  an  air  of  satisfaction.  Josephine,  meanwhile,  stood 
beguiling  the  time  allotted  by  her  lord  to  the  duties  of  empire,  by 
admiring,  in  one  of  the  lofty  mirrors  of  the  saloon,  the  elegant 
coquetry  of  her  own  dress,  and  the  splendour  of  the  jewels  in 
which  she  was  arrayed. 

After  the  departure  of  the  secretary,  the  Emperor  took  his  seat; 
and,  while  resting  his  elbow  on  a  table  covered  with  crimson  velvet, 
richly  fringed  with  gold,  he  fell  into  a  train  of  reflection,  announced 
by  the  expression  of  his  countenance,  of  a  highly  agreeable  nature. 
But  the  silence  in  which  he  was  absorbed  was  far  from  satisfac- 
tory to  Josephine.  She  felt  that  he  had  deported  himself  harshly 
towards  her  that  morning,  in  the  aff'air  of  the  Fenestrella  memo- 
rial. But  she  was  beginning  to  perceive  that  she  had  been  pre- 
cipitate in  pressing  her  request  at  an  inauspicious  moment ;  and 
promised  herself  to  repair  the  injury  she  might  have  done  her 
protege,  by  referring,  at  a  more  convenient  season,  his  petition  to 
the  Emperor.  The  happy  moment,  she  fancied,  was  now  ar- 
rived ! 

Seating  herself  at  the  table,  exac-tly  opposite  to  Napoleon,  and 
resting,  like  himself,  her  chin  upon  her  hand,  she  met  his 
inquiring  looks  with  a  smile,  and  demanded  the  subject  of  his 
cogitations. 


P  I  C  C  I  O  L  A  .  95 

"Of  what  am  I  thinking?"  replied  the  Emperor,  in  a  cheerful 
tone — "that  the  imperial  diadem  is  a  very  becoming  ornament, 
and  that  I  should  have  been  much  to  blame  if  I  had  not  added 
such  a  trinket  to  your  majesty's  casket." 

The  smiles  of  Josepliine  subsided  as  he  spoke,  while  those  of 
ihe  Emperor  brightened.  He  was  fond  of  repressing  those  ner- 
vous tremors  and  evil  auguries  on  the  part  of  the  Empress,  natu- 
rally excited  by  the  extr  lordinary  change  of  condition  which  had 
elevated  a  simple  subject  to  the  imperial  throne. 

"Are  you  not  better  pleased  to  salute  me  Emperor  than  gene- 
ral?" he  persisted,  without  noticing  her  serious  looks. 

"  I  am  ! — for  the  iiigher  title  endows  you  with  the  prerocrative 
ot  mercy !"  she  replied ;  "  and  I  have  an  appeal  to  make  to  your 
clemency." 

It  was  no.v  N  ipoleon's  turn  to  relapse  into  gravity.  Knittintr 
his  brows,  he  prepared  himself  sternly  fi)r  resistance; — ever  on  the 
watch  lest  the  influence  of  Josephine  over  his  mind  should  be- 
guile him  into  some  culpable  weakness  in  matters  of  state. 

"  How  often  have  you  promised  me,"  said  he,  in  a  tone  of 
severity,  "  to  interfere  no  more  with  the  course  of  public  justice? — 
Do  you  suppose  that  the  privilege  of  according  pardon  is  assigned 
to  sovereigns,  that  they  may  gratify  the  caprices  of  their  private 
feelings?  —  Mercy  should  be  exercised  only  to  soften  the  too 
rigorous  justice  of  the  laws,  or  rectify  the  errors  of  public  tri- 
bunals. To  extend  one's  hand  in  continual  acts  of  forgiveness,  is 
wantonly  to  multiply  and  strengthen  the  ranks  of  the  enemies  of 
government." 

"  Nevertheless,  sire,"  remonstrated  Josephine,  concealing  with 
her  handkerchief  the  tendency  to  mirth  which  she  could  scarcely 
repress,  "  you  will  certainly  comply  with  the  request  I  am  about 
to  make." 

"I  doubt  it." 

"  And  I  persist  in  my  opinion  ;  for  it  is  an  act  of  justice  rather 
than  of  cJemency,  I  implore  at  your  hands.  I  demand  that  two 
oppressors  should  be  removed  from  the  post  they  hold  I  Yes ! 
sire,7 — let  them  be  dismissed  with  ignominy  ; — let  them  be  con- 
demned, and  discarded  for  ever  from  the  service  of  your  ma- 
jesty !" 

"  How,  Josephine  !"  cried  Napoleon,  "  it  is  by  yoirr  lips  that  for 
once  I  am  instigated  to  severity  ?  Have  you  become  the  advocate 
of  punishment?  Upon  whom,  pray,  are  you  thus  desirous  to  call 
down  vengeance  ?" 

"  Upon  two  flagstones,  sire,  which  are  superfluous  in  the  pave- 
ment of  a  courtyard !"  replied  the  Empress,  indulging,  unre- 
strained, in  the  merriment  she  had  so  long  found  it  difficult  to 
repress. 


96  PICCIOLA. 

"Two  flagstones!  aie  you  making  a  jest  of  me?"  cried  Napo- 
leon, in  a  severe  tone,  piqued  at  supposing  himself  treated  with 
levity  by  his  wife. 

"  Never  was  I  more  truly  in  earnest,"  replied  Josephine,  "  for 
on  the  removal  of  these  two  stones  depends  the  happiness  of  a 
suffering  human  being  Let  me  entreat  your  majesty's  attention 
to  a  history  that  requires  your  utmost  indulgence,  both  towards 
myself  and  its  unfortunate  object."  And  without  farther  circum- 
locution, she  proceeded  to  acquaint  him  with  the  particulars  of 
her  si.ngular  interview  with  Teresa  Girardi,  and  the  devoted  ser- 
vices of  the  poor  girl  towards  a  friendless  prisoner,  whose  name 
she  studiously  kept  concealed.  While  enlarging  on  the  sufferings 
of  the  captive,  on  his  passion  for  his  plant,  and  the  disinterested- 
ness of  his  young  and  lovely  advocate — all  the  natural  eloquence 
of  a  humane  and  truly  feminine  heart  flowed  from  her  lips,  and 
irradiated  her  speaking  countenance. 

Impressed  by  the  animation  of  her  gestures,  a  respondent  smile 
played  upon  the  lips  of  the  Emperor;  but  that  smile,  alas!  was  an 
exclusive  tribute  to  the  attractions  and  excellencies  of  his  wiiJe ! 


CHAPTER    VI. 

During  this  tedious  interval,  the  unhappy  Charney  was  count- 
ing the  hours,  the  minutes,  the  seconds,  with  the  utmost  impa- 
tience :  he  felt  as  if  the  minutest  divisions  of  time  were  maliciously 
heaping  themselves  together,  to  weigh  down  the  head  of  his  de- 
voted flower ! 

Two  days  had  now  elapsed.  The  messenger  brought  back  no 
tidings;  and  even  the  venerable  Girardi  was  growing  uneasy,  and 
beginning  to  deduce  evil  auguries  from  the  absence  of  his  daugh- 
ter. Hitherto,  however,  he  had  not  named  his  messenger  to  the 
Count;  and,  while  trying  to  awaken  iiope  in  the  heart  of  his 
companion,  experienced  the  mortification  of  hearing  accusations 
against  the  zeal  and  fidelity  of  the  person  to  whom  the  mission 
had  been  intrusted.  Girardi  could  no  longer  refrain  from  accusing 
himself  in  secret  of  having  hazarded  the  safety  of  his  child. 
"Teresa,  my  daughter,  my  dear  daughter!"  he  exclaimed,  amid 
the  stillness  of  his  gloomy  chamber,  "  what — what  has  become  of 
vou  ?"  And,  lo !  the  third  day  came,  and  no  Teresa  made  her 
appearance. 

When  the  fourth  arrived,  Gim.rdi  had  not  strength  to  show  him- 
self at  the  window.     Charney  could  not  even  catch  a  glimpse  of 


PICCIOLA.  97 

his  fellow-prisoner  ;  but  had  he  lent  a  more  attentive  ear,  he  might, 
perhaps,  have  overheard  the  supplications,  broken  by  sobs,  ad- 
dressed to  Heaven  by  the  poor  old  man,  for  the  safety  of  his  only 
child.  A  dark  veil  of  misery  seemed  suddenly  to  have  overspread 
that  little  spot;  where,  bat  a  short  time  before,  in  spite  of  the 
absence  of  liberty,  cheerfulness  and  contentment  diffused  their 
enlivening  sunshine. 

The  very  plant  was  progressing  rapidly  to  its  last;  and  Charney 
found  himself  compelled  to  watch  over  the  dying  moments  of  his 
Picciola.  He  had  now  a  double  cause  for  affliction ;  a  dread  of 
losing  the  object  of  his  attachment,  and  of  having  degraded  him- 
self by  useless  humiliation; — if  he  should  have  humbled  himself 
in  the  dust,  only  to  be  repulsed  from  the  footstool  of  the  usurper. 

As  if  the  whole  world  were  in  a  conspiracy  against  him,  Ludo- 
vico,  formerly  so  kind,  so  communicative,  so  genuine,  seemed 
unwilling  now  to  address  to  him  a  single  word.  Taciturn  and 
morose,  the  gaoler  came  and  went,  passed  through  the  court,  or 
returned  by  the  winding  staircase,  with  his  pipe  in  his  mouth,  as 
if  to  avoid  uttering  a  syllable.  He  seemed  to  have  taken  a  spite 
against  the  affliction  of  his  captive.  The  fact  was,  that  from  the 
moment  the  refusal  of  the  commandant  had  been  made  known, 
the  gaoler  began  to  prepare  for  the  moment  which  he  foresaw  was 
about  to  take  place  before  him,  the  alternative  of  his  duty  and  his 
inclination.  Duty,  he  knew,  must  eventually  prevail ;  and  he 
affected  sullenness  and  brutality,  by  way  of  gaining  couraae  for 
the  effort.  Such  is  the  custom  of  persons  unrefined  by  the  polish 
of  education.  In  fulfilling  whatever  harsh  functions  may  be  as- 
signed them,  they  try  to  extinguish  every  generous  impulse  in 
their  souls,  rather  than  soften  them  by  courtesy  of  deportment. 
Poor  Ludovico's  goodness  of  heart  was  rarely  demonstrated  in 
words;  and  where  kindly  deeds  were  interdicted  by  those  in  au- 
thority over  him,  his  secret  compassion  usually  found  vent  in  sur- 
liness towards  the  very  victim  exciting  his  commiseration.  If  his 
ill-humour  should  call  forth  resentment,  so  much  the  better :  his 
duty  became  all  the  easier.  War  is  indispensable  between  victim 
and  executioner, — prisoner  and  gaoler. 

When  the  dinner  hour  arrived,  Ludovico,  finding  Charney 
transfixed  in  mournful  contemplation  beside  his  plant,  took  care 
not  to  present  himself  in  the  gay  mood  with  which  he  was  wont 
to  accost  the  Count ;  sometimes  sportively  addressing  his  god- 
daughter as  "  Giovnndta,  fanciuleita,"  or  inquiring  after  the 
health  of  the  "Count  and  Countess;"  but,  traversing  the  court 
in  haste,  without  noticing  his  prisoner,  he  pretends  to  suppose 
him  in  the  chamber  above.  By  some  accidental  movement,  how- 
ever, on  the  part  of  Charney,  Ludovico  suddenly  found  himself 
face  to  face  with  the  captive ;  and  was  shocked  to  perceive  the 
9 


98  P  I  C  C  1  O  L  A  . 

change  which  the  lapse  of  a  few  days  had  effected  in  the  counte- 
nance. Impatience  and  anxiety  had  furrowed  his  brow,  and  dis- 
coloured his  lips,  and  wasted  his  cheeks;  while  the  disorder  of 
his  hair  and  beard  served  to  increase  the  wildness  of  his  aspect, 
Against  his  will,  Ludovico  stood  motionless,  contemplating  these 
raelaticholy  changes;  but,  suddenly,  calling  to  mind  his  previous 
resolutions,  he  cast  an  eye  upon  the  flower,  winked  ironically, 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  whistled  a  lively  air,  and  was  about  to 
take  his  departure,  when  Charney  murmured,  in  a  scarcely  recog- 
nisable voice,  "  What  injury  have  I  done  to  you,  Ludovico?" 

"  31e  ! — done  to  me  !  None,  that  I  know  of,"  replied  the  gaoler, 
more  deeply  touched  than  he  cared  to  show,  by  the  plaintiveness 
of  this  apostrophe. 

"  In  that  case,"  said  the  Count,  advancing  towards  him  and 
seizing  him  by  the  hand,  "  be  still  my  friend  !  Aid  me  while 
there  is  yet  time!  I  have  found  means  of  evading  all  objections! 
The  commandant  can  have  no  farther  scruples, — nay,  he  need 
not  know  a  word  of  the  matter.  Procure  me  only  a  box  of  earth, 
— we  will  gently  raise  the  stones  for  a  moment  and  transplant  the 
flower — " 

"  Ta-ta-ta-ta-ta  !"  interrupted  Ludovico,  drawing  back  his  hand. 
"  The  devil  take  the  gilly-flower,  for  aught  I  care !  She  has 
done  mischief  enough  already;  beginning  with  yodrself,  who  are 
about,  I  see,  to  have  another  fit  of  illness.  Better  make  a  pitcher 
of  tisane  of  her  before  'tis  too  late." 

Charney  replied  by  an  eloquent  glance  of  scorn  and  indigna- 
tion. 

"If  it  were  only  yourself  who  had  to  suffer,"  resumed  Ludovi- 
co, "you  would  have  yourself  to  thank,  and  there  would  be  an 
end  on't.  But  there  is  a  poor  old  man,  whom  you  have  deprived 
of  his  daughter ;  for  Signor  Girardi  will  see  no  more  of  his  un- 
happy Teresa." 

"Deprived  of  his  daughter !"  cried  the  Count,  his  eyes  dilating 
with  horror,  "  how? — in  what  manner?" 

"Ay!  hoic?  in  what  manner?"  pursued  the  gaoler,  setting 
down  his  basket  of  provisions,  and  taking  the  attitude  of  one 
about  to  administer  a  harsh  reprimand.  "  People  lay  the  whip  to 
the  horses,  and  pretend  to  wonder  when  the  carriage  rolls  on. 
People  let  fly  the  stiletto,  and  pretend  to  wonder  when  blood  flows 
from  the  wound.  Trondidio !  O  che  frascluria!  You  choose 
to  write  to  the  Emperor — 'twas  your  own  aff"air  :  you  wrote.  Well 
and  good  !  You  infringed  the  discipline  of  the  prison,  and  the 
commandant  will  find  'tis  time  to  punish  yon.  Well  and  good 
again.  But,  because  you  must  needs  have  a  trusty  messenger  to 
conpey  your  unlucky  letter,  nothing  less  would  serve  you  than  to 
employ  the  povera  damigdla  on  your  fool's  errand !" 


P  IC  C  10  LA.  99 

*'■  How! — you  mean  thnt  Girardi's  daughter — " 

"Ay,  ay!  open  your  eyes,  and  look  surprised,"  interrupted  Lu- 
dovico.  "  Did  you  suppose  that  your  correspondence  with  the 
Emperor  was  to  be  conveyed  by  the  telegraph  ?  The  telegraph, 
sir,  has  got  other  business  on  hand.  All  that  I  have  got  to  tell 
you  is,  that  the  commandant  has  discovered  the  whole  plot;  per- 
haps through  the  guide,  (for  the  Giovana  could  not  hazard  her- 
self alone  on  such  an  expedition.)  And  so  she  is  forbid  to  re- 
enter the  fortress.  Her  poor  father  will  behold  her  face  no  more. 
And  through  whose  fault,  I  should  like  to  know?" 

Charney  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  and  groaned  aloud. 

"  Unhappy  Girardi !  have  I,  indeed,  deprived  thee  of  thine  only 
consolation  ?"  cried  he,  at  last.  Then,  turning  to  Ludovico,  he 
inquired  whether  the  old  man  was  apprised  of  what  had  befallen 
him. 

"He  has  known  it  since  yesterday,"  replied  the  gaoler ;  "and 
no  doubt  loves  you  all  the  better.  But  make  haste!  your  dinner 
is  getting  cold !" 

Charney,  overwhelmed  with  grief,  sank  upon  his  bench.  A 
momentary  pang  suggested  to  him  to  crush  Picciola  at  once,  exe- 
cuting retributive  justice  upon  her  with  his  own  hand.  But  he 
had  not  courage  for  a  deed  so  ruthless ;  and  a  faint  hope  already 
seemed  to  glimmer  in  the  distance,  for  his  favourite.  The  young 
maiden,  who  had  thus  generously  devoted  herself  to  serve  him, 
must  be  already  returned.  Perhaps  she  had  been  able  to  ap- 
proach the  Emperor?  Yes!  doubtless  she  has  been  admitted  to 
the  honour  of  an  audience;  and  it  is  this  discovery  vvhicli  has  so 
irritated  the  commandant  against  her.  The  commandant  may 
possibly  have  in  his  possession  an  order  for  the  liberation  of  Pic- 
ciola !  In  that  case  how  dares  he  venture  on  further  delay?  The 
commands  of  the  Emperor  must  be  obeyed.  Blessings,  bless- 
ings," thought  Charney,  "  on  the  noble  girl  who  has  befriended 
us — the  girl  whom  I  have  been  the  means  of  separating  from  her 
father!  Teresa!  sweet  Teresa!  how  willingly  would  I  sacrifice 
half  my  existence  for  thy  sake — for  thy  happiness — nay,  what 
would  I  not  give  for  the  mere  power  of  opening  to  thee  once 
again  the  gates  of  the  fortress  of  Fenestrella !" 


CHAPTER   VII. 

SrARCELY  half  an  hour  had  elapsed  after  the  intimation  con- 
veyed by  Tiudovico,  when  two  municipal  officers,  arrayed  in  theii 


100  PIC  CI  OLA. 

tri-coloured  scarfs  of  office,  presented  themselves,  accompanied 
by  the  commandant,  before  the  Count  de  Charney,  and  requested 
him  to  accompany  them  to  his  own  chambei  ;  on  arriving  in 
which,  the  commandant  addressed  his  prisoner  with  considerable 
pomposity  and  deliberation. 

The  commandant  was  a  man  of  dignified  corpulency,  having  a 
round  bald  head,  and  gray  and  bushy  whiskers.  A  deep  scar, 
extending  from  his  left  eyebrow  to  the  upper  lip,  seemed  to  divide 
his  face  in  two.  A  long,  blue,  uniform  coat,  with  prodigious 
skirts,  buttoned  closely  to  the  chin,  top-boots  over  his  pantaloons, 
a  slight  tint  of  powder  on  his  remnant  of  a  braided  pigtail,  and 
scanty  side-curls,  spurs  to  his  boots,  (by  way  of  distinction, 
doubtless,  for  the  rheumatism  had  long  constituted  him  chief  pri- 
soner in  his  own  citadel;) — such  were  the  outward  and  visible 
signs  of  the  dignitary,  whose  only  warlike  weapon  was  the  cane 
on  which  his  gouty  limbs  leaned  for  support. 

Appointed  to  the  custody  of  prisoners  of  state  alone,  most  of 
whom  were  members  of  families  of  distinction,  the  commandant 
piqued  himself  on  his  good  breeding,  in  spite  of  frequent  out- 
breaks of  fury  :  and,  in  spite  of  certain  infractions  of  prosody 
and  syntax,  on  the  chosen  elegance  of  his  language.  He  was  up- 
right, moreover,  as  a  pikestaff;  rejoiced  in  an  emphatic  and  sonor- 
ous voice ;  flourished  his  hand  when  he  attempted  a  bow,  and 
scratched  his  head  when  he  attempted  a  speech.  Thus  qualified 
and  endowed,  the  brave  Morand,  captain  and  commandant  of 
Fenestrella,  passed  for  a  fine  soldierlike-looking  man,  and  an  effi- 
cient public  functionary. 

From  the  courteous  tone  assumed  in  his  initiatory  address,  and 
the  professional  attitude  of  the  two  commissaries  by  whom  he  was 
accompanied,  Charney  fancied  that  their  sole  business  was  to  de- 
liver to  him  a  reprieve  for  his  unhappy  Picciola.  But  the  com- 
mandant's next  sentence  consisted  in  an  inquiry,  whether,  upon 
any  specific  occasion,  the  prisoner  had  to  complain  of  his  want  of 
courtesy  or  abuse  of  authority.  The  Count,  still  flattering  him- 
self that  such  a  preamble  augured  well  for  the  accomplishment  of 
his  hopes,  certified  all,  and  more  than  all,  that  civility  seemed  to 
require  in  reply  to  this  leading  question. 

"You  cannot,  I  imagine,  sir,  have  forgotten,"  persisted  the  com- 
mandant, "  the  care  and  kindness  lavished  upon  you  during  your 
illness?  If  it  was  not  your  pleasure  to  submit  to  the  prescriptions 
of  the  physicians  appointed  to  visit  you,  the  fault  was  neither  theirs 
nor  mine,  but  your  own.  When  it  occurred  to  me  that  your  con- 
valescence might  be  accelerated  by  a  greater  facility  for  taking 
air  and  exercise,  you  were  instantly  allowed,  at  all  times  and  sea- 
sons, access  to  the  prison-court?" 

Charney  inclined  his  head  in  token  of  grateful  affirmation.   But 


nCCIOLA.  101 

impatience  of  tlie  g-md  man's  circtimlociit'ntn  already  caused  him 
to  compress  his  hps. 

"  Nevertheless,  sir,"  resumed  the  commandant,  in  the  tone  of  a 
man  whose  feelings  have  been  wounded,  and  wliose  advances  were 
repaid  with  ingratitude,  "you  have  not  scrupled  to  infringe  the 
regulations  of  the  fortress,  of  the  tenor  of  which  you  could  not 
have  been  ignorant ;  compromising  me  thereby  in  the  eyes  of 
General  Menon,  the  governor  of  Piedmont;  nay,  perhaps,  of  his 
gracious  majesty  the  Emperor  himself.  The  memorial  which  you 
have  contrived  to  place  before  him " 

"Place  before  him!"  interrupted  Charney;  "has  he  then  re- 
ceived it?" 

"  Of  course  he  has  received  it." 

"And  the  result — the  result!"  cried  the  Count,  trembling  with 
anxiety  ;   "  what  has  been  decreed  ?" 

"  That,  as  a  punishment  for  your  breach  of  discipline,  you  are 
to  be  confined  a  month  in  the  dungeon  of  the  northern  bastion  of 
the  fortress  of  Fenestrella." 

"But  what  said  the  Emperor  to  my  application?"  cried  the 
Count,  unable  to  resign  at  once  all  his  cherished  hopes  of  redress. 

"  Do  you  suppose,  sir,  that  the  Emperor  has  leisure  for  the  con- 
sideration of  any  such  contemptible  absurdities?"  was  the  disdain- 
ful reply  of  the  commandant;  on  which  Charney,  throwing  him- 
self in  complete  abstraction  into  the  only  chair  the  chamber  hap 
pened  to  contain,  became  evidently  unconscious  of  all  that  was 
passing  around  him. 

"  This  is  not  all  !"  resumed  the  commandant ;  "  your  communi- 
cations with  the  exterior  of  the  fortress,  being  thus  ascertained, 
it  is  natural  to  suppose  that  your  correspondence  may  have  been 
more  extensive  than  we  know  of,  and  1  beg  to  inquire  whether 
you  have  addressed  letters  to  any  person  besides  his  majesty  the 
Emperor  ?" 

To  this  address  Charney  vouchsafed  no  reply. 

"An  official  examination  of  your  chamber  and  effects  is  about 
to  take  place,"  added  the  man  in  authority.  "These  gentlemen 
are  appointed  by  the  governor  of  Turin  for  the  inquisitorial  duty, 
which  they  will  discharge  punctually,  according  to  legal  form,  in 
your  presence.  But  previous  to  the  execution  of  the  warrant,  1 
request  to  know  whether  you  have  atiy  personal  revelations  to 
make?  Voluntary  disclosures,  sir,  might  operate  favourably  in 
your  behalf." 

Still,  however,  the  prisoner  remained  obstinately  silent ;  and  the 
commandant,  knitting  his  brows  and  contracting  his  high  forehead 
into  a  hundred  solemn  wrinkles,  assumed  an  air  of  severity,  and 
motioned  to  the  delegates  of  General  Meimn  to  proceed  with  their 
duty.  They  immediately  began  to  ransack  the  chamber,  from  the 
9* 


102 


PICCIOLA. 


chimney  and  palliasse  of  the  bed,  to  the  linings  of  the  coats  of  the 
prisoner;  while  Morand  paced  up  and  down  the  narrow  chamber, 
tapping  with  his  cane  every  square  of  the  flooring,  to  ascertain 
whether  excavations  existed  for  the  concealment  of  papers  or  pre- 
parations for  flight.  He  called  to  mind  the  escape  of  Latude  and 
other  prisoners  from  the  Bastille ;  where  moats,  both  deep  and 
wide,  walls  ten  feet  thick, — gratings,  counterscarps,  drawbridges, 
ramparts  bristled  with  cannon  and  palisades,  sentinels  at  every 
postern,  on  every  parapet, —  had  proved  insuflicient  to  baffle  the 
perseverance  of  a  mm  armed  with  a  cord  and  a  nail!  The  Bas- 
tille of  Fenestrella  was  far  from  possessing  the  same  iron  girdle  of 
strength  and  security.  Since  the  year  1796,  the  fortifications  had 
been  in  part  demolished,  and  the  citadel  was  now  defended  only 
by  a  few  sentries,  planted  on  the  external  bastion. 

After  a  search  prolonged  as  far  as  the  limited  space  would 
allow,  nothing  of  a  suspicious  nature  was  brought  to  light,  with 
the  exception  of  a  small  vial,  containing  a  blackish  liquid,  which 
had  probably  served  the  prisoner  for  ink.  Interrogated  as  to  the 
means  by    which   it   came    into   his   possession,    Charney  turned 


PIC  CIO  LA.  103 

towards  the  window,  and   began  tapping  wiih  his  fingers  on  the 
glass,  without  co!idescending  to  reply  to  tiie  importunate  querists. 

The  dressing-case  still  remained  to  be  eK;unined;  but,  on  being 
required  to  give  up  the  key,  the  Count,  instead  of  presenting  it 
with  becoming  respect  to  the  commandant,  almost  threw  it  into 
the  hand  extended  towards  him. 

Thus  boldly  defied  in  presence  of  his  subordinates,  the  com- 
mandant disdained  all  farther  attempts  at  conciliation.  He  was, 
in  fact,  suffocating  with  rage.  His  eyes  sparkled,  his  complexion 
became  livid,  and  he  bustled  up  and  down  the  little  chamber,  but- 
toning and  unbuttoning  his  coat,  as  if  to  exhaust  the  transports  of 
his  repressed  indignation. 

At  length,  by  a  spontaneous  movement,  the  two  sbirri,  occupied 
in  the  examination  of  the  casket,  holding  it  in  one  hand  and  turn- 
ing over  its  contents  with  the  other,  advanced  towards  the  window, 
to  ascertain  whether  it  contained  secret  drawers,  and  immediately 
exclaimed,  in  tones  of  triumph,  "All's  right!  The  mystery  is 
in  our  hands." 

Drawing  out  from  beneath  the  false  bottom  of  the  case  a  num- 
ber of  cambric  handkerchiefs,  closely  scribbled  over  and  carefully 
folded,  they  were  satisfied  of  having  obtained  possession  of  the 
proofs  of  a  widely-organized  conspiracy ;  for  at  this  profanation 
of  the  sacred  archives  so  dear  to  him,  Charney  started  up  and  ex- 
tended his  hand  to  snatch  back  the  treasures  of  which  he  saw 
himself  despoiled.  Then,  struck  by  the  consciousness  of  his  own 
incapacity  of  resistance,  he  reseated  himself  in  his  chair,  without 
uttering  a  syllable  of  remonstrance. 

But  the  impetuosity  of  his  first  movements  was  not  lost  upon 
the  governor;  who  saw  at  once  that  the  documents  which  had 
fallen  into  his  hands  were  of  the  highest  importance  in  the  estima- 
tion of  the  Count.  The  handkerchiefs,  therefore,  were  deposited, 
on  the  spot,  in  a  government  despatch-bag,  duly  sealed  and  dock- 
eted. Even  the  soot-bottle  and  tooth-pick  were  confiscated  to  the 
state!  A  report  was  drawn  up  of  the  proceedings  which  had  taken 
place,  to  which  the  signature  of  Charney  was  formally  demanded, 
— impatiently  refused, — and  the  refusal  duly  recorded  at  the  end 
of  the  document;  after  which,  the  commandant  issued  his  man- 
date for  the  immediate  transfer  of  the  prisoner  to  the  northern 
bastion. 

What  vague,  confused,  and  painful  emotions  prevailed,  mean- 
while, in  the  mind  of  the  prisoner  I  Charney  was  alive  only  to  a 
single  stroke  of  his  afflictions;  a  stroke  which  deadened  his  con- 
sciousness of  all  the  rest.  He  had  not  so  much  as  a  smile  of  pity 
to  bestow  upon  the  imaginary  triumph  of  the  blockheads  who  were 
carrying  off  what  they  supposed  to  be  the  groundwork  of  a  crimi- 
nal impeachment ;  but  which  consisted  in  a  series  of  scientific 


104  piccroLA. 

observations  upon  the  growth  and  properties  ot'  his  plant; — Yes; 
even  his  tenderest  recollections  snatched  from  his  possession;  and 
an  impassioned  lover  required  to  give  up  the  letters  of  his  mistress, 
;an  alone  enter  into  the  despair  of  the  captive.  To  preserve  Pic- 
siola  from  destruction,  he  had  tarnished  his  honour,  his  self- 
esteem  ;  broken  the  heart  of  a  benevolent  old  man :  destroyed  the 
happiness  of  a  gentle  and  lovely  girl ;  and  of  all  that  had  sufficed 
to  attach  him  to  a  life  of  wretchedness.  Every  trace  is  now 
effaced — every  record  destroyed — the  very  journal  of  those  happy 
hours  which  he  had  enjoyed  in  the  presence  of  his  idol,  is  torn  for 
ever  from  his  possession  ! 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

The  intervention  of  Josephine  in  Charney's  favour  had  not 
proved  so  efficient  as  might  have  been  supposed.  At  the  conclu- 
sion of  her  mild  intercessions  in  favour  of  the  prisoner  and  his 
plant,  when  she  proceeded  to  place  in  the  hands  of  Napoleon  the 
handkerchief  inscribed  with  his  memorial,  the  Emperor  recalled 
to  mind  the  singular  indifference — so  mortifying  to  his  self-love — 
with  which,  during  the  warlike  evolutions  of  the  morning  at  Ma- 
rengo, Josephine  had  cast  her  vacant,  careless  gaze  upon  the 
commemoration  of  his  triumph.  And  thus  predisposed  to  displea- 
sure, the  obnoxious  name  of  Charney  served  only  to  aggravate  his 
ili-humour. 

"  Is  the  man  mad  ?"  cried  he,  "  or  does  he  pretend  to  deceive 
me  by  a  farce?  A  Jacobin  turned  botanist?  —  about  as  good  a 
jest  as  Marat  descanting  in  the  tribune  on  the  pleasures  of  a  pas- 
toral life;  or  Couthon  presenting  himself  to  the  Convention  with 
a  rose  in  his  button-hole !" 

Josephine  vainly  attempted  to  appeal  against  the  name  of  Ja- 
cobin thus  lightly  bestowed  upon  the  Count;  for,  as  she  com- 
menced her  remonstrance,  a  chamberlain  made  his  appearance  to 
announce  that  the  general  officers,  ambassadors,  and  deputies  of 
Italy,  were  awaiting  their  majesties  in  the  audience-chamber;  — 
where,  havincr  hastily  repaired,  Nnpoleon  immediately  burst  forth 
into  a  denunciation  against  visionaries,  philosophers,  and  liberals, 
mainly  inspired  by  the  recent  menticm  of  the  Count  de  Charney. 
fn  an  imperious  tone,  he  threatened  that  all  such  disturbers  of 
public  order  should  be  speedily  reduced  to  submission  ;  but  the 
loud  and  threatening  tone  he  had  assumed,  which  was  supposed 
to  be  a  spontaneous  outbreak  of  passion,  was,  in  fact,  a  premedi- 


P  I  C  C  1  O  L  A  .  lOJ 

tated  lesson  bestowed  on  the  assembly;  and  more  especially  on 
the  Prussian  ambassador,  wlio  was  present  at  the  scene.  Napo- 
leon seized  the  opportunity  to  announce  to  the  representatives  of 
Europe  the  divorce  of  the  Emperor  of  the  French  from  the  prin- 
ciples of  the  French  revolution! 

By  way  of  homage  to  the  throne,  the  subordinates  of  the  Empe- 
ror hastened  to  emulate  his  new  profession  of  faith.  The  general 
commandant  at  Turin,  more  especially,  Jacques-Abdallah  Menon, 
forgetting  or  renouncing  his  former  principles,  burst  forth  into  a 
furious  diatribe  against  the  pseudo  Brutuses  of  the  clubs  and  ta- 
verns of  Italy  and  France;  on  which  signal  arose  from  the  minions 
of  the  empire  a  unanimous  chorus  of  execrations  against  all  con- 
spirators, revolutionists,  and  more  especially  Jacobins;  —  till, 
overawed  by  their  virulence,  Josephine  began  to  tremble  at  the 
storm  she  had  been  unwittingly  the  means  of  exciting.  At  length, 
drawing  near  to  the  ear  of  Napoleon,  she  took  courage  to  whis- 
per, in  a  tone  of  mingled  tenderness  and  irony,  —  "What  need, 
sire,  of  all  these  denunciations?  —  My  memorial  regards  neither 
a  Jacobin  nor  a  conspirator;  but  simply  a  poor  plant,  whose  plots 
against  the  safety  of  the  empire  should  scarcely  excite  such  vast 
tumults  of  consternation." 

Napoleon  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Can  you  suppose  me  the 
dupe  of  such  absurd  pretences?"  he  exclaimed.  "This  Charney 
is  a  man  of  high  faculties  and  the  most  dangerous  principles; — 
would  you  pass  him  upon  me  for  a  blockhead? — The  fiower,  the 
pavement,  the  whole  romance,  is  a  mere  pretext.  The  fellow  is 
getting  up  a  plan  of  escape!  It  must  be  looked  to.  Menon!  let 
a  careful  eye  be  kept  upon  the  movements  of  those  imprisoned  for 
political  offences  in  the  citadel  of  Fenestrella.  One  Charney  has 
presumed  to  address  to  me  a  memorial.  How  did  he  manage  to 
forward  his  petition  otherwise  than  through  the  hands  of  the  com- 
mandant? Is  such  the  discipline  kept  up  in  the  state-prisons  of 
the  empire  ?" 

Again  the  Empress  ventured  to  interpose  in  defence  of  her 
protege. 

"  Enough,  madam,  enough  of  this  man  !"  exclaimed  the  com- 
mander-in-chief; and  discouraged  and  alarmed  by  the  displeasure 
expressed  in  his  words  and  looks,  Josephine  cast  down  her  eyes 
and  was  silent  from  confusion.  General  Menon,  on  the  other 
hand,  mortified  by  the  public  rebuke  of  the  Emperor,  was  not 
sparing  in  the  reprimand  despatched  to  the  captain-commandant 
of  the  citadel  of  Fenestrella;  who,  in  his  turn,  as  we  have  seen, 
vented  his  vexation  on  the  prisoners  committed  to  his  charge. 
Even  Girardi,  in  addition  to  the  cruel  sentence  of  separation  from 
his  daughter,  (who  on  arriving  full  of  hopes  at  the  gate  of  the 
fi)rtress,  was  commanded  to  appear  there  no  more,)  had  been  sub- 


106  P  I  C  C  I  ()  L  A  . 

jected,  like  Charney,  to  a  domiciliary  visit;  by  which,  however, 
nothing  unsatisfactory  was  elicited. 

But  emotions  more  painful  than  those  resulting  from  the  for- 
feiture of  his  manuscripts,  now  awaited  the  Count :  as  he  traversed 
the  courtyard  on  his  way  to  the  bastion  with  the  commandant  and 
his  two  acolytes.  Captain  Morand,  who  had  either  passed  without 
notice  on  his  arrival,  the  fences  and  scaftolding  surrounding  the 
plant,  or  was  now  stimulated  by  the  arrogant  contumacy  of  Char- 
ney to  an  act  of  vengeance,  paused  to  point  out  to  Ludovico  this 
glaring  breach  of  prison-discipline  manifested  before  his  eyes. 

"  Wiiat  is  the  meaning  of  all  this  rubbish  ?"  cried  he.  "  Is  such, 
sir,  the  order  you  maintain  in  your  department?" 

"  That,  captain,"  replied  the  gaoler,  in  a  half-hesitating,  half- 
grumbling  tone,  drawing  his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth  with  one  hand, 
and  raising  the  other  to  his  cap  in  a  military  salute — "  that,  under 
your  favour,  is  the  plant  I  told  you  of, — which  is  so  good  for  the 
gout,  and  all  sorts  of  disorders." 

Then,  letting  fall  his  arm  by  an  imperceptible  movement,  he 
replaced  his  pipe  in  its  usual  place. 

"  Death  and  the  devil !"  cried  the  captain,  "  if  these  gentlemen 
were  allowed  to  have  their  own  way,  all  tne  chambers  and  courts 
of  the  citadel  might  be  made  into  gardens,  menageries,  or  shops, — 
like  so  many  stalls  at  a  fair.  Away  with  this  weed  at  once,  and 
every  thing  belonging  to  it!" 

Ludovico  turned  his  ey<  s  alternately  towards  the  captain,  the 
Count,  and  the  flower,  and  was  about  to  interpose  a  word  or  two 
of  expostulation. — "Silence!"  cried  the  commandant;  "silence, 
and  do  your  duty." 

Thus  fiercely  admonished,  Ludovico  held  his  peace;  removing- 
the  pipe  once  more  from  his  mouth,  he  extinguished  it.  shook  out 
the  dust,  and  deposited  it  on  the  edge  of  the  wall  while  he  pro- 
ceeded to  business.  Deliberately  laying  aside  his  cap,  his  waist- 
coat, and  rubbing  his  hands  as  if  to  gain  courage  ibr  the  job,  he 
paused  a  moment,  then  suddenly,  with  a  movement  of  anger,  as  if 
against  himself  or  his  chief,  seized  the  haybands  and  matting,  and 
dispersed  them  over  the  court.  Next  went  the  uprights  which 
had  supported  them  ;  which  he  tore  up  one  after  the  other,  broke 
over  his  knee,  and  threw  the  pieces  on  the  pavement.  His  former 
tenderness  for  Picciola  seemed  suddenly  converted  into  a  fit  of 
abhorrence. 

Charney,  meanwhile,  stood  motionless  and  stupefied,  his  eyes 
fixed  wistfully  upon  the  plant  thus  exposed  to  view,  as  if  his  looks 
could  still  afford  protection  to  its  helplessness.  The  day  had 
been  cool,  the  sky  overclouded,  and  from  the  stem,  which  had  ral- 
lied during  the  night,  sprang  several  little  healthy,  verdant  shoots. 
[t  seemed  as  though  Picciola  were  collecting  all  her  strength  to  die ! 


FICCIOLA.  107 

To  die! — Picciola  ! — his  own,  his  only! — the  world  ct  !iis  ex- 
istence and  his  dreams,  the  pivot  on  wliicli  revolved  his  very  life, 
to  be  reduced  to  nothingness!  Midway  in  his  aspirations  towards 
a  higher  sphere,  the  flight  of  the  poor  captive,  over  whose  head 
heaven  has  suspended  its  sentence  of  expiation,  is  to  be  suddenly 
arrested  !  How  will  he  henceforward  fill  up  the  vacant  moments 
of  his  leisure  ? — how  satisfy  the  aching  void  in  his  own  bosom  ? 
Picciola,  the  desert  which  thou  didst  people  is  about  to  become 
once  more  a  solitary  wilderness !  No  more  visions,  no  more 
hopes,  no  more  reminiscences,  no  more  discoveries  to  inscribe, 
no  farther  objects  of  affection  ! — How  narrow  will  his  prison  now 
appear  —  how  oppressive  its  atmosphere  —  the  atmosphere  of  a 
tomb, — the  tomb  of  Picciola  !  The  golden  branch, — the  sibylline 
divining  rod,  which  sufficed  to  exorcise  the  evil  spirits  by  which 
he  was  beset,  will  no  longer  protect  him  against  himself!  The 
sceptic — the  disenchanted  philosopher,  must  return  to  his  former 
mood  of  incredulity,  and  bear  once  more  the  burden  of  his  bitter 
thoughts,  with  no  prospect  before  him  but  eternal  extinction  ! 
No, — death  were  a  thousand  times  preferable  to  such  a  destiny ! 

As  these  thoughts  glanced  through  the  mind  of  Charney,  he  be- 
held, at  the  little  grated  window,  the  shadow  of  the  venerable 
Girardi.  "  Alas!"  murmured  the  Count,  "  I  have  deprived  him  of 
all  he  had  to  live  for;  and  he  conies  to  triumph  over  my  affliction, 
— to  curse  me — to  deride  me!  And  he  is  right;  for  what  are  sor- 
rows such  as  mine  compared  to  those  1  have  heaped  upon  his 
revered  head?" 

Charney  perceived  the  old  man  clasping  the  iron  window-bars 
in  his  trembling  hands;  but  dared  not  meet  his  eyes,  and  hazard 
an  appeal  to  the  forgiveness  of  the  only  human  being  of  whose 
esteem  he  was  ambitious.  The  Count  dreaded  to  find  that  vene- 
rable countenance  distorted  by  the  expression  of  reproach  or  con- 
tempt ;  and  when  at  length  their  glances  met,  he  was  touched  to 
the  soul  by  the  look  of  tender  compassion  cast  upon  him  by  the 
unhappy  father; — forgetful  of  his  own  sorrows  in  beholding  those 
of  his  companion  in  misfortune.  The  only  tears  that  had  ever 
fallen  from  the  eyes  of  the  Count  de  Charney,  started  at  that  try- 
ing moment!  But,  consolatory  as  they  were,  he  dried  them  hur- 
riedly as  they  fell,  in  the  drend  of  exposing  his  weakness  to  the 
contempt  and  misapprehension  of  the  men  by  whom  he  was 
surrounded. 

Among  the  spectators  of  this  singular  scene,  the  two  sbirri  alont 
remained  indifferent  to  what  was  passing — starinc  vacantly  at  the 
prisoner,  the  old  man,  the  commandant,  and  the  gaoler;  wonder- 
ing what  reference  tiieir  emotions  might  bear  to  the  supposed 
conspiracy,  and  nothing  doubting  that  the  mysterious  plant,  abcmt 


1 08  P  I  C  C  I  O  L  A  . 

to  be  dislodged,  would  prove  to  have  been  a  cover  to  some  mo- 
mentous hiding-place. 

Meanwhile,  the  fatal  operations  proceeded.  Under  the  orders 
of  the  commandant,  Ludovico  was  attempting  to  take  up  the  rustic 
bench,  which  at  first  seemed  to  resist  his  feeble  efforts. 

"A  mallet — take  a  mallet !"  cried  Captain  Morand. 

Ludovico  obeyed;   but  the  mallet  fell  from  his  hands. 

"  Death  and  the  devil !  how  much  longer  am  I  to  be  kept  wait- 
ing?" now  vociferated  the  captain;  and  the  gaoler  immediately 
let  fall  a  blow,  under  which  the  bench  gave  way  in  a  moment. 
Mechanically,  Ludovico  bent  down  towards  his  god-daughter, 
which  was  now  alone  and  undefended  in  the  court ;  while  the 
Count  stood  ghastly  and  overpowered,  big  drops  of  agony  rising 
upon  his  brow. 

"  Why  destroy  it,  sir;  why  destroy  it? — you  must  perceive  that 
the  plant  is  about  to  die !" — he  faltered,  descending  once  more  to 
the  abject  position  of  a  suppliant.  But  the  captain  replied  only 
by  a  glance  of  ironical  compassion.  It  was  now  his  turn  to  re- 
main silent ! 

"  Nay,  then,"  cried  Charney,  in  a  sort  of  frenzy,  "  since  it  must 
needs  be  sacrificed,  it  shall  die  by  no  hand  but  mine !" 

"I  forbid  you  to  touch  it!"  exclaimed  the  commandant;  and, 
extending  his  cane  before  Charney,  as  if  to  create  a  barrier 
between  the  prisoner  and  his  idol,  he  renewed  his  orders  to 
Ludovico ;  who,  seizing  the  stem,  was  about  to  uproot  it  from 
the  earth. 

The  Count,  startled  into  submission,  stood  like  an  image  of 
despair. 

Near  the  bottom  of  the  stem,  below  the  lowest  branches, 
where  the  snp  had  got  power  to  circulate,  a  single  flower,  fresh 
and  brilliant,  had  just  expanded  ! — Already,  all  the  others  were 
drooping,  withered,  on  their  stalks;  but  this  single  one  retained 
its  beauty,  as  yet  uncrushed  by  the  rude  hand  of  the  gaoler. 
Springing  in  the  midst  of  a  little  tuft  of  leaves,  whose  verdure 
threw  out  in  contrast  the  vivid  colours  of  its  petals,  the  flower 
seemed  to  turn  imploringly  towards  its  master.  He  even  fancied 
its  last  perfumes  were  exhaling  towards  him;  and,  as  the  tears 
rose  in  his  eyes,  seemed  to  see  the  beloved  object  enlarge,  disap- 
pear, and  at  last  bloom  out  anew.  The  human  being  and  the 
flower,  so  strangely  attached  to  each  other,  were  interchanging  an 
eternal  farewell ! 

If,  at  that  moment,  when  so  many  human  passions  were  called 
mto  action  by  the  existence  of  an  humble  vegetable,  a  stranger 
could  have  entered,  unprepared,  the  prison-court  of  Fenestrella, 
where  the  sky  shed  a  sombre  and  saddening  reflection,  the  aspect 


PIC  CIO  I.  A.  109 

of  the  officers  of  justice,  invested  in  their  tri-coloured  scarfs — of 
the  commandant,  issuing  his  ruthless  orders  in  a  tone  of  au- 
thority— would  naturally  have  seemed  to  announce  some  frightful 
execution  ;  of  which  Ludovico  was  the  executioner,  and  Charney 
the  victim,  whose  sentence  of  death  had  just  been  recited  to  him. 
And  see,  they  come! — strangers  arc  entering  the  court; — two 
strangers,  the  one,  an  aide-de-camp  of  General  Menon,  the  other, 
a  page  of  the  Empress  Josephine.  'J'he  dust  with  which  their 
uniforms  were  covered,  attests  with  what  speed  they  have  per- 
formed their  journey  to  the  fortress;  yet  a  minute  more,  and  they 
had  been  too  late  ! 

At  the  noise  produced  by  their  arrival,  Ludovico,  raisincr  his 
head,  relaxed  his  grasp  of  Picciola,  and  confronted  Charney  face 
to  face.     Both  the  gaoler  and  the  prisoner  were  pale  as  death ! 

The  commandant  had  now  received  from  the  hands  of  the  aide- 
de-camp  an  order,  the  perusal  of  which  seemed  to  strike  him  with 
astonishment ;  but  after  taking  a  turn  or  two  in  the  courtyard,  to 
compare  in  his  mind  the  order  of  to-day  with  that  of  the  day  pre- 
ceding, he  assumed  a  more  courteous  demeanour,  and,  approach- 
ing the  Count  de  Charney,  placed  in  his  hands  the  missive  of 
General  Menon.  Trembling  with  emotion,  the  prisoner  read  as 
follows : — 

"  His  majesty,  the  Emperor  and  King,  deputes  me,  sir,  to  in- 
form you,  that  he  grants  the  petition  forwarded  to  him  by  the 
prisoner  Charney,  now  under  your  custody  in  the  fortress  of  Fe- 
nestrella,  relative  to  a  plant  growing  among  the  stones  of  one  of  its 
pavements.  Such  as  are  likely  to  be  injurious  to  the  flower  must 
be  instantly  removed  ;  for  which  purpose  you  are  requested  to 
consult  the  wishes  and  convenience  of  your  prisoner." 

"Long  live  the  Emperor!"  cried  Ludovico. 

"Long  live  the  Emperor!"  murmured  another  voice,  which 
peemed  to  issue  from  the  adjoining  wall ;  and  while  all  this  was 
proceeding,  the  commandant  stood  leaning  on  his  cane,  by  way 
of  keeping  himself  in  countenance;  the  two  officers  of  justice, 
completely  puzzled,  were  trying  in  vain  to  connect  the  new  turn 
of  affairs  with  the  plot  which  their  imagination  had  created  ;  while 
the  aide-de-camp  and  page,  secretly  wondered  what  could  be  thu 
motive  of  the  haste  which  had  been  so  urgently  recommended  to 
them.  The  latter  now  addressed  Charney,  to  inform  him  that  the 
letter  contained  a  postscript  in  the  handwriting  of  the  Empress; 
and  the  Count,  turning  over  the  page,  read  aloud  as  follows : 

"  I  earnestly  recommend  Monsieur  the  Count  de  Charney  to 
the  good  offices  of  Captain  Morand  ;  to  whom  I  shall  feel  person- 
ally obliged  for  any  acts  of  kindness  by  which  he  may  be  enabled 
to  alleviate  the  situation  of  his  prisoner.  Josephine." 

10 


no  PIC  cioL  A. 

"  Long  live  the  Empress  !"  cried  Ludovico.  Charnpy  said  not 
ri  word.  His  feelings  could  not  be  satisfied  with  less  than  raisin. t 
to  his  lips  the  precious  signature  of  his  benefactress.  The  letter, 
held  for  some  minutes  in  silence  before  his  eyes,  served  to  conceal 
his  face  from  the  curiosity  of  the  spectators. 


BOOK  III. 


CHAPTER   I. 

The  commandant  of  Fenestrella  was  now  unrelaxing  in  his 
courtesies  towards  the  protege  of  her  majesty  the  Empress  Queen. 
There  was  no  further  mention  of  a  transfer  to  the  northern  bas- 
tion;  and  Charney  was  even  authorized  to  reconstruct  his  fences 
for  the  defence  of  Picciola;  who,  feeble  and  delicate  after  her 
recent  transplantation,  had  more  than  ever  occasion  for  protection. 
So  completely  indeed  had  Captain  Morand's  irritation  of  feeling 
against  the  prisoner  and  plant  subsided,  that  every  morning  Lu- 
dovico appeared  with  a  message  of  inquiry  from  the  commandant 
after  the  wants  and  wishes  of  the  Count,  and  the  health  of  his 
pretty  Picciola. 

Profiting  by  these  favourable  dispositions,  Charney  obtained 
from  his  munificence  an  allowance  of  pens,  ink,  and  paper,  where- 
with to  commemorate  the  sequel  of  his  studies  and  observations 
on  vegetable  physiology  ;  for  the  letter  of  the  Governor  of  Turin 
did  not  go  so  far  as  to  cancel  the  confiscation  which  had  taken 
place  of  his  former  lucubrations.  The  two  judiciary  sbirri,  after 
carrying  off  his  cambric  archives,  and  submitting  them  to  the 
most  careful  examination,  admitted  their  incompetency  to  discover 
a  key  to  the  cipher,  and  transmitted  the  whole  to  the  minister  of 
police  in  Paris,  that  more  able  decipherers  might  be  employed  to 
search  out  the  root  of  the  mystery. 

But  Charney  had  now  to  deplore  a  far  more  important  privation. 
The  commandant,  resolved  to  visit  upon  Girardi,  the  only  victim 
within  his  reach,  the  reprimand  originally  addressed  to  him  by 
General  Menon,  had  consigned  the  venerable  Italian  to  a  stronger 
part  of  the  fortress,  secure  from  all  communication  with  the  exte- 
rior ,  and  the  Count  could  not  refrain  from  bitter  self-reproaches, 
whe;i  he  reflected  upon  the  miserable  isolation  of  the  poor  old 
man. 


P  1  C  C  I  0  L  A  .  Ill 

The  greater  portion  of  the  day,  his  eyes  remained  mournfully 
fixed  upon  the  grating  in  the  wall,  tiie  little  wiiidow  of  which  was 
now  closed  up.  In  fancy  he  still  beheld  Girardi  extending  his 
arm  through  the  bars,  and  trying  to  bestow  upon  him  a  friendly 
pressure  of  the  hand  ;  nay,  he  still  seemed  to  see  his  precious 
memorial  to  the  Emperor,  fluttering  against  the  wall  and  gradually 
drawn  up  from  his  own  hands  to  those  of  Girardi, — thence  to  pro- 
ceed to  the  hands  of  Teresa  and  the  Empress.  The  very  glance 
of  pity  and  pardon  cast  down  upon  him  by  Girardi  in  his  moment 
of  anguish,  seemed  to  shine  ineffaceably  on  the  spot;  and  often 
did  he  hear  again  the  cry  of  exultation  which  burst  from  the  win- 
dow on  the  arrival  of  Picciola's  reprieve.  That  very  sentence  of 
pardon  is  in  fact  the  gift  of  Girardi  and  Girardi's  daughter  :  and 
though  solely  serviceable  to  himself,  has  become  the  fatal  orio-in 
of  their  separation  and  the  sorrows  of  the  parent  and  his  child. 

Even  the  countenance  of  Teresa  was  restored,  by  the  efforts  of 
his  imagination,  to  the  spot  where  alone  it  had  been  momentarily 
revealed  to  his  eyes,  at  the  close  of  the  uneasy  dream  which  he 
now  believed  to  have  foreshown  the  approaching  perils  of  his 
plant.  Inseparably  united  in  his  mind  with  the  Picciola  of  his 
dreams,  it  was  always  under  her  form  and  features,  that  the  living 
Teresa  Girardi  was  revealed  to  him. 

One  day,  as,  with  his  eyes  upraised  towards  the  grating,  the 
prisoner  stood  indulging  in  these  and  similar  illusions,  the  dim 
and  dusty  window  was  flung  open,  and  a  female  form  appeared 
behind  the  grating.  But  the  new-comer  was  a  swarthy,  savage- 
looking  woman,  with  rapacious  eyes,  and  an  enormous  goitre,  in 
whom  the  Count  soon  recognised  the  wife  of  Ludovico. 

From  that  moment,  Charney  never  cast  his  eyes  towards  the 
window.     The  charm  was  broken. 


CHAPTER    II. 

Relieved  from  all  constraint,  imbedded  in  new  earth,  and  capa- 
ciously framed  in  the  wide  pavement,  Picciola  seemed  to  rise  tri- 
umphantly from  her  tribulations.  She  had,  however,  survived  her 
summer  blossoms ;  with  the  exception  of  that  single  flower,  the 
last  to  open  and  the  last  to  fidl. 

Charney  already  foresaw  important  discoveries  to  be  deduced 
from  the  seed,  which  was  swelling  and  ripening  in  the  calyx  He 
promised  himself  the  triumph  of  the  Dicfi  Srininalis,  rr  Feast  of 
he  Sowers.      For  space  was  no  longer  wanting  for   his  experi- 


112  PICCI  OL  A. 

ments :  Picciola  has  more  than  enough  room  for  her  own  expan- 
sion. She  has  every  facility  to  becoiue  a  mother,  and  shelter  her 
uprising  children  under  the  shadow  of  her  branches. 

While  waiting  this  important  event,  the  Count  becomes  eager 
to  ascertain  the  real  name  of  the  fair  companion,  to  whom  he  is 
indebted  for  so  many  happy  hours. 

"  Shall  I  never  be  able,"  thought  Charney,  "  to  bestow  upon 
my  foundling,  my  adopted  child,  the  name  she  inherits  from 
science,  in  common  with  her  legitimate  sisters  of  the  plain  or 
mountain  1" 

And  at  the  first  visit  paid  by  the  commandant  to  his  charge,  the 
Count  admitted  his  desire  to  procure  an  elementary  botanical 
work.  Morand,  unwilling  either  to  refuse  or  to  take  upon  him- 
self the  vast  responsibility  of  compliance,  thought  proper  to  sig- 
nify the  demand  in  punctilious  form  to  the  governor  of  Pied- 
mont. But  from  General  Menon,  the  protege  of  the  Empress 
was  now  safe  from  a  refusal ;  and  a  botanical  dictionary  soon  ar- 
rived at  the  fortress,  accompanied  by  all  the  folios  treating  of 
botany  which  could  be  obtained  from  the  Royal  Library  of 
Turin. 

"  I  have  the  honour,"  wrote  General  Menon,  "  to  facilitate  to 
the  utmost  the  wishes  of  the  Sieur  Charney;  for  her  Majesty  the 
Empress-Queen,  a  proficient  in  botanical  science,  (as  in  many 
others,)  will  doubtless  be  glad  to  learn  the  name  of  a  plant  in 
whose  welfare  she  has  deigned  to  evince  an  interest." 

When  Ludovico  made  his  appearance  with  the  piles  of  books, 
under  the  enormous  weight  of  which  his  back  was  breaking, 
Charney  could  not  resist  a  smile. 

"  How  !"  cried  he,  "  all  this  heavy  artillery,  to  compel  a  poor 
helpless  flower  to  give  up  her  name?" 

Nevertheless,  it  afforded  him  satisfaction  to  look  once  more  upon 
a  book.  In  turning  over  the  leaves,  his  heart  thrilled  with  plea- 
sure, as  in  former  days,  when  the  attainment  of  knowledge  was 
his  chief  delight  in  life.  What  months  had  now  elapsed  since 
printed  characters  were  before  his  eyes!  Already  a  plan  of  sage 
and  sober  study  was  concocting  in  his  excited  mind. 

"If  ever  I  am  released  from  captivity,"  thought  he,  "I  will 
certainly  become  a  botanist.  Instead  of  scholastic  and  pedantic 
controversies,  which  serve  only  to  bewilder  the  human  intellect,  I 
will  devote  myself  to  a  science  where  nature,  ever  varying,  yet 
still  the  same,  dispenses  immutable  laws  to  her  disciples." 

The  books  forwarded  for  the  use  of  the  Count  de  Charney. 
consisted  of  the  Sprcirs  Plantarhm,  of  Linnaeus ;  the  Institu- 
tiones  rti  Herbarice  of  Tournefort;  the  Theatrum  Botaniczim  of 
Bauhin  ;  and  the  Phytographia,  Dtndrologia,  and  Agrostogra- 
phia  of  Plukenet,  Aldrovandus,  and  Scheuchzer ;  besides  half  a 


PIC  CIO  LA.  JJ3 

hundred  works  of  minor  classicality,  in  the  French,  English,  and 
Italian  languages. 

Though  somewhat  startled  by  so  formidable  an  array  of  learn- 
ing, the  Count  was  not  discouraged ;  and,  by  way  of  preparation 
for  the  worst,  opened  the  thinnest  volume  of  the  collection,  and 
began  to  examine  the  index  in  search  of  the  most  euphonous 
titles  afforded  by  botanic  nomenclature.  He  longed  to  appropri- 
ate to  his  purpose  some  of  the  softer  saints  of  the  floral  calendar; 
such  as  Alcea,  Alisina,  Andryala,  Bromelia,  Celosia,  Coronilla, 
Euphrasia,  Helvelia,  Passiflora,  Primula,  Santolina,  or  some  other, 
equ  lily  soft  to  the  lip,  and  harmonious  to  the  ear. 

And,  now,  for  the  first  time,  he  began  to  tremble,  lest  his  pretty 
fav<i  trite  should  inherit  some  quaint  or  harsh  patronymic.  A  mas- 
culine or  neuter  termination  would  put  to  flight  all  his  poetical 
vagaries  concerning  his  gentle  friend.  What,  for  instance,  would 
become  of  his  ethereal  Picciola,  if  her  earthly  prototype  were  to 
be  saluted  as  Runiex  ohtusifoliiis,  Satyrium,  Hoscyamus,  Gossy- 
pium,  Cynoglossum,  Ciicubahis,  Cmchrur,,  Buxus ;  or,  worse  still, 
and  in  more  vulgar  phrase,  as  Old  Man,  Dogtooth,  Houndstono-ue, 
Cuckoo-flower,  Devil-in-a-bush,  Hen  and  Chickens,  or  Spider- 
wort  !  How  should  he  support  such  a  disenchantment  of  his 
nympholeptic  imagination  !  No  ! — better  not  to  risk  the  vexation 
of  such  an  ordeal. 

Yet,  in  spite  of  himself,  he  found  it  impossible  to  resist  the 
temptation  of  opening  every  successive  volume,  —  led  on  from 
page  to  page  by  the  developement  of  the  mighty  mysteries  of  nature, 
but  irritated  by  the  love  of  system  prevailing  among  the  learned, 
by  whom  so  charming  a  science  has  been  rendered  the  harshest, 
•  most  technical,  and  most  perplexed,  of  all  the  branches  of  natural 
history. 

For  a  whole  week  he  devoted  himself  to  the  analysis  of  his 
flower,  with  a  view  to  classification,  but  without  success.  In  the 
chaos  of  so  many  strange  words,  varying  from  system  to  system, — 
bewildered  by  the  vast  and  ponderous  synonymy,  which,  like  the 
net  of  Vulcan,  overspreads  the  beauties  of  botany,  overpowering 
them  by  its  weight,  he  soon  gave  up  the  attempt ;  having  consulted 
each  author  in  succession,  for  a  clew,  wandering  from  classes  to 
orders,  from  orders  to  tribes,  from  tribes  to  families,  from  families 
to  species,  from  species  to  individuals  ;  and  losing  all  patience  with 
the  blind  guides,  ever  at  variance  among  themselves  with  respect 
to  the  purpose  and  denomination  of  the  parts  of  organization  in 
vegetable  life. 

At  the  close  of  his  investigations,  the  poor  little  flowei    the  last 

upon  the  tree,  examined  petal  by  petal,  and  to  the  very  depth  of 

her  calyx,  suddenly  fell  off  one  day  into  the  hand  of  the  operator, 

bearing  with  it  Charney's  hopes  of  inquiry  into  the  progress  of  the 

10* 


114  PICCIOLA. 

seed,  the  reproduction  of  his  favourite,  the  niaternit)i  of  the  lovely 
Picciola ! 

"  She  shall  have  no  other  title  than  Picciola!"  cried  Charney. 
"  Picciola,  the  flower  of  the  captive.  What  do  I  want  to  know 
more  of  her  name  or  nature?  To  what  purpose  this  idle  thirst 
after  human  knowledge?" 

In  a  moment  of  petulance,  Charney  even  threw  down  the  vast 
heap  of  folios  which  had  served  to  perplex  him  ;  when,  from  one 
of  the  volumes,  came  fluttering  forth  a  slip  of  paper,  on  which 
had  been  recently  inscribed,  in  the  handwriting  of  a  woman,  the 
following  verse,  purporting  to  be  a  quotation  from  the  Holy  Scrip- 
tures: 

"  Hope,  and  bid  thy  neighbour  hope :  for,  behold,  I  have  not 
forsaken  ye,  and  a  day  of  consolation  is  at  hand." 


CHAPTER   III. 

Charney  perused  and  re-perused  a  hundred  times  a  sentence 
which  he  could  not  but  believe  to  have  been  especially  addressed 
to  himself  His  correspondent  was  evidently  a  woman;  but  it 
grieved  him  to  reflect  that  the  only  one  to  whom  he  was  indebted 
for  real  acts  of  service,  the  only  woman  who  had  ever  devoted  her- 
self to  his  cause,  was  still  so  imperfectly  known  to  him,  that  he 
was  ignorant  of  the  very  sound  of  her  voice,  and  by  no  means- 
sure  of  recognising  her  person,  should  she  present  herself  before 
him. 

But  by  what  means  had  Teresa  contrived  to  evade  the  vigilanco. 
of  his  Argus  in  the  transmission  of  her  letter? 

Poor  girl !  Afraid  to  compromise  her  father  by  the  mere  men- 
tion of  his  name!  Unhappy  father!  —  to  whom  he  is  unable  to 
afford  consolation  by  the  sight  of  the  handwriting  of  his  child  ! 

Often,  indeed,  had  Charney's  nights  been  rendered  sleepless  by 
the  idea  of  the  solitary  old  man,  to  whom  he  had  been  the  inno- 
cent cause  of  such  irreparable  injury,  when  one  night,  as  he  was 
lying  awake,  absorbed  in  these  afilicting  recollections,  his  ear  was 
struck  by  an  unaccustomed  sound  in  the  chamber  above  his  own, 
which  had  remained  uninhabited  during  the  whole  period  of  his 
confinement  at  Fenestrella. 

Next  morning,  Ludovico  entered  his  apartment,  his  countenance 
full  of  meaning,  which  he  vainly  attempted  to  compose  to  its  usual 
vacuity  of  expression. 


P  I  C  C  I  O  L  A  . 


115 


"  What  is  the  matter?"  demanded  the  Couii.  'has  any  thing 
unusual  occurred  in  the  citadel?" 

"Nothing  particular,  Sigiior  Conic;  nothing  of  any  conse- 
quence, only  we  have  had  a  sudden  influx  of  prisoners;  and  the 
chambers  of  the  northern  and  southern  turrets  being  full,  the  com- 
mandant is  under  the  necessity  of  placing  another  state  prisoner 
in  this  part  of  the  fortress,  who  must  share  with  you  the  use  of  the 
court-yard.  But  this  need  be  no  hindrance  to  your  pursuits.  We 
receive  at  Fenestrella  only  gentlemen  of  high  consideration, — that 
is,  I  mean  we  have  no  thieves  or  robbers  among  our  prisoners. 
But  stay,  here  is  the  new-comer,  waiting  to  pay  you  his  visit  of 
inauguration." 

Charney  half  rose  at  this  announcement,  scarcely  knowing 
whether  to  grieve  or  rejoice  at  the  intelligence;  but,  on  turning 
to  do  the  honours  to  his  unexpected  guest,  what  was  his  amaze- 
ment to  behold  the  door  open  for  the  admission  of — Girardi  ! 


After  gazing  upon  each  other  for  a  moment  in  silence,  as  if 
still  doubtful  of  the  reality  of  their  good  fortune,  the  hands  of  the 
two  prisoners  were  suddenly  pressed  together  in  mutual  gratu- 
lations. 

"  Well  and  good,"  cried  Ludovico,  with  a  cordial  smile;  "no 


116  P  I  C  C  1  O  L  A  . 

need,  I  see,  of  a  master  of  the  ceremonies  between  you ;  the  ac- 
quaintance has  been  quickly  made :"  and  away  he  went,  leaving 
them  to  the  enjoyment  of  each  other's  society. 

"  To  whom  are  we  indebted,  I  wonder,  for  this  happy  meeting?" 
was  Charney's  first  exclamation. 

"  To  my  daughter — doubtless  to  my  daughter,"  replied  Girardi. 
"  Every  consolation  of  my  life  reaches  me  through  the  hands  of 
my  Teresa." 

"  Do  you  know  this  handwriting?"  inquired  Charney,  drawing 
from  his  casket  the  slip  of  paper  he  so  dearly  treasured. 

"It  is  Teresa's!"  cried  Girardi;  "it  is  the  writing  of  my 
child!  She  has  not  neglected  us;  nor  have  her  promises  been 
tardy  in  their  accomplishment.  But  how  did  this  letter  reach 
your  hands?" 

The  Count  related  all  the  circumstances,  then  carelessly  put 
forth  his  hand  to  receive  back  the  slip  of  paper;  but,  perceiving 
that  the  poor  old  man  silently  detained  it,  perusing  it  word  by 
word,  letter  by  letter,  and  raising  it  a  thousand  times,  with  trem- 
bling hands,  to  his  lips,  he  saw  that  the  pledge  was  lost  to  him  for 
ever ;  and  experienced  a  regret  at  the  loss,  which  appeared  almost 
unaccountable. 

After  the  first  moments  passed  in  conjectures,  concerning 
Teresa  and  the  spot  where  she  was  likely  to  have  taken  refuge, 
Girardi  began  to  examine  the  lodgings  of  his  new  friend;  and 
gravely  proceeded  to  decipher  the  inscriptions  on  the  wall.  Two 
among  them  had  been  already  modified  ;  and  the  old  man  could 
readily  discern,  in  this  recantation,  the  influence  exercised  by 
Picciola  over  her  votary.  One  of  the  maxims  of  Charney  ran  as 
follows: — "  Mankind  maintain,  upon  the  surface  of  the  earth,  the 
position  they  will  one  day  hold  below  it — side  by  side,  without  a 
single  bond  of  union.  Physically  considered,  the  world  is  a  mob, 
where  millions  meet  and  jostle  together:  morally  speaking,  it  is  a 
solitary  wilderness." 

To  this  withering  sentence,  the  hand  of  Girardi  added,  '^Unless 
to  him  idIio  has  a  friend."  Then,  turning  to  his  young  companion^ 
the  old  man  extended  his  arms  towards  him,  and  a  mutual  embrace 
sealed  between  them  a  compact  of  eternal  friendship. 

Next  day,  they  dined  together  in  the  camera  of  the  Count; — 
Charney  seated  upon  the  bed,  and  his  venerable  guest  upon  the 
chair, — the  sculptured  table  between  them  being  covered  with 
double  rations,  viz  :  a  fine  trout  from  the  lake  of  Avigliano,  cray- 
fish from  the  Cenise,  a  bottle  of  excellent  Mondovi  wine,  and  a 
piece  of  the  celebrated  Millesimo  cheese,  known  over  Italy  under 
the  name  of  rubiola.  The  feast  was  a  noble  one  for  a  prison  ;  but 
Girardi's  purse  was  richly  replenished,  and  the  commandant  will- 
ing to  sanction  every  accommodation  which  Ludovico  could  afford 


PI  C  CIO  LA.  117 

to  the  two  prisoners,  within  the  letter  of  his  inntructions  from  head- 
quarters. 

Never  had  Ch.irney  more  thoroughly  enjoyed  the  pleasures  of 
the  table.  The  happiest  spirit  of  social  intercourse  was  already 
established  between  them.  If  exercise,  and  the  waters  of  the 
Eurotas,  imparted  a  zest  to  the  black  broth  of  the  Lacedajmonians, 
how  much  more  the  presence  and  conversation  of  a  friend  to  the 
flavour  of  the  choice  viands  of  Piedmont  1 

Their  hearts  expanded  with  the  sense  of  enjoyment.  Without 
scruple,  without  preamble,  but  as  if  in  fulfilment  of  the  sacred  en- 
gagements conveyed  in  their  promises  of  friendship,  Charney  began 
to  relate  the  presumptuous  studies  and  idle  vanities  of  his  youth; 
while  Girardi,  by  way  of  encouragement  to  this  candour,  did  not 
hesitate  to  avow  the  early  errors  of  his  own. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Girardi  was  a  native  of  Turin;  in  which  city  his  progenitors 
had  established  a  considerable  manufactory  of  arms.  From  time 
immemorial,  Piedmont  has  afforded  a  medium  for  the  transmission 
of  opinions  and  merchandise  from  Italy  to  France,  and  a  medium 
for  the  transmission  of  merchandise  and  opinions  from  France  to 
Italy;  some  portion  of  each,  of  course,  being  detained  on  the 
road.  The  breezes  of  France  had  breathed  on  Girardi's  father, 
who  was  a  philosopher,  a  reformer,  a  disciple  of  Voltaire :  the 
breezes  of  Italy  upon  his  mother,  who  was  a  zealot  to  the  utmost 
extent  of  bigotry.  The  boy,  loving  and  respecting  both  parents, 
and  listening  to  both  with  equal  confidence,  participating  in  both 
their  natures,  became,  of  necessity,  an  amphibious  moralist  and 
politician.  A  republican,  as  well  as  a  devotee,  he  was  incessantly 
projecting  the  union  of  Liberty  and  Religion; — a  holy  alliance 
which  he  purposed  to  accomplish  after  a  manner  of  his  own.  For 
Girardi  was  but  twenty ;  and  at  that  period,  people  were  young  at 
twenty  years  of  age. 

The  enthusias-tic  youth  was  soon  compelled  to  give  pledges  on 
both  sides.  The  Piedmontese  nobility  retained  certain  nobiliary 
privileges, — such  as  an  exclusive  right  to  appear  in  a  box  at  the 
theatre,  or  to  dance  at  a  public  ball ;  and  dancing  was  held  to  be 
an  aristocratic  exercise,  in  which  the  middle  classes  must  content 
themselves  with  the  part  of  spectators. 

At  the  head  of  a  band  of  young  people  of  his  own  age,  Gia- 
como  Girardi  chose,  however,  one  day  to  infringe  the  national  rule 


118  PIC  CI  OLA. 

established  by  his  belters;  and  at  a  public  ball,  headed  a  quadrille 
of  untitled  dancers,  in  the  very  face  of  the  aristocratic  portion  of 
the  assembly.  The  patrician  dancers,  indignant  at  the  innovation, 
would  fain  have  put  a  stop  to  the  attempt ;  but  vociferous  cries 
of  " Aviusemmt  for  all  alike, — dancing  for  lugh  and  loio,"  were 
raised  by  the  plebeians;  and  to  this  outbreak  of  sedition  succeeded 
other  cries  of  a  liberal  nature.  In  the  tumult  that  ensued,  twenty 
challenges  were  given  and  refused,  not  from  cowardice,  but  pride; 
and  the  imprudent  Giacomo,  carried  away  by  the  impetuosity  of 
his  age  and  character,  ended  with  inflicting  a  blow  upon  the 
proudest  and  most  insolent  of  his  adversaries. 

Tiie  unpremeditated  insult  proved  of  serious  moment.  The 
influential  family  of  San  Marsano  swore  that  it  should  not  pass 
unpunished;  the  knights  of  St.  Maurice,  of  the  Annunciation,  all 
the  chivalry  and  nobility  of  the  country  (which  an  infringement 
of  privilege  is  sure  to  render  unanimous),  affected  to  resent  the 
offence,  both  individually  and  collectively.  At  his  father's  sug- 
gestion, the  young  man  took  refuge  with  one  of  his  relations,  vicar 
of  a  small  village  in  the  principality  of  Masserano,  in  the  environs 
of  Bielle,  and,  in  consequence  of  his  flight,  Girardi  was  condemned, 
as  contumacious,  to  five  years'  banishment  from  Turin. 

The  dignity  to  which  the  whole  business  was  rashly  elevated  by 
all  this  notoriety,  investing  a  boyish  aff'ray  with  the  importance 
of  a  conspiracy,  imparted  considerable  consequence  to  Giacomo 
Girardi  in  the  eyes  of  his  fellow-countrymen.  Some  saluted  him 
as  champion  of  the  liberties  of  the  people;  others  as  one  of  those 
dangerous  innovators  who  still  dreamed  of  restoring  the  inde- 
pendence of  Piedmont;  but  while,  at  the  court  of  Turin,  the  in- 
solent chastiser  of  nobility  was  denounced  as  a  leading  member 
of  the  democratic  faction,  the  poor  little  partisan  was  quietly 
ministering  to  the  performance  of  a  village  mass,  after  the  fervent 
fulfilment  of  his  own  religious  duties! 

This  stormy  commencement  of  a  life  which  had  seemed  pre- 
destined to  peace  and  tranquillity,  exercised  a  powerful  influence 
over  the  fortunes  of  Giacomo  Girardi.  In  his  old  age,  he  was 
fated  to  pay  a  severe  penalty  for  the  follies  of  his  boyhood,  for, 
upon  his  arrest  on  the  groundless  charge  of  having  attempted  the 
life  of  the  First  Consul,  his  accusers  did  not  fail  to  recur  to  his 
early  disorders,  as  an  evidence  of  his  dangerous  tendency  as  a 
disturber  of  the  public  peace.  But  from  the  moment  of  quitting 
Turin,  and  during  the  whole  period  of  his  exile,  Giacomo,  indif- 
ferent to  the  love  of  equality  instilled  into  him  by  his  father,  re- 
signed himself  to  the  influence  of  the  religious  principles  derived 
from  his  mother.  He  eveu  carried  them  to  excess;  and  his  rela- 
tive, the  worthy  priest,  whose  faith  was  sincere,  but  whose  capacity 
narrow  and  uncultivated,  instead  of  checking  the  exalted  fervour 


PIC  CI  OLA.  119 

of  the  young  enthusiast,  excited  it  to  the  utmost,  in  the  hope  that 
the  loveliness  of  Christian  humility  would  impose  a  check  upon 
the  impetuosity  of  his  character.  But  in  the  secjuel,  the  worthy 
vicar  repented  the  rashness  of  his  calculations  ;  for  Giacomo  would 
hear  of  nothing  now  but  embracing  the  sacerdotal  profession. 
The  wild,  hot-headed  young  man  insisted  on  becoming  a  priest 
of  the  altar. 

In  the  hope  of  arresting  a  measure  which  would  deprive  them 
of  their  only  son,  his  father  and  mother  got  him  recalled  home; 
and  by  the  utmost  eloquence  of  parental  tenderness,  prevailed 
upon  him  to  resign  his  projects,  and  acquiesce  in  their  own.  In 
a  few  months,  Giacomo  Girardi  was  married  to  a  beautiful  girl, 
selected  for  him  by  his  family.  But,  to  the  great  astonishment  of 
his  friends,  the  young  fanatic  not  only  persisted  in  regarding  his 
lovely  bride  as  an  adopted  sister,  but  exercised  over  her  mind  so 
strong  an  influence  as  to  persuade  her  to  retire  into  a  convent, 
while  he  returned  to  his  pious  calli:ig  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Bielle. 

At  a  short  distance  from  his  favourite  village,  rose  the  last 
branch  of  the  Pennine  Alps — a  vast  and  towering  chain  of  moun- 
tains; the  highest  peak  of  which,  Monte  Mucrone,  overshadowed 
a  gloomy  little  valley; — shaggy  with  overhanging  rocks,  obscured 
by  mists,  bordered  by  awful  precipices,  and  appearing  at  a  distance 
to  imbody  all  the  horrors  with  which  Dante  and  Virgil  have  in- 
vested the  entrance  to  the  infernal  regions.  But  on  drawing 
nearer  to  the  defile,  the  impending  rocks  were  found  to  be  clefted 
with  verdure;  the  precipices  to  be  relieved  by  gentle  slopes,  where 
flowering  shrubs  afforded  a  beautiful  ladder  of  vegetation,  inter- 
spersed with  natural  bowers  and  thickets;  while  the  mists,  vary- 
ing in  hue  according  to  the  reflections  of  the  sun,  after  becomino- 
white,  pink,  or  violet,  evaporated  altogether  under  the  influence 
of  the  noontide  radiance.  It  was  then  that,  deep  in  the  lovely 
valley,  a  lake  of  about  five  hundred  feet  in  length  became  ap- 
parent, alimented  by  crystal  springs,  and  giving  rise  to  the  little 
river  called  the  Oroppa,  which  at  some  distance  farther  encircled 
and  formed  into  an  island  one  of  the  verdant  hillocks  of  the  val- 
ley, on  which  the  piety  of  the  inhabitants  has  erected,  at  great 
cost,  and  consecrated  to  the  Holy  Virgin,  one  of  the  most  re- 
markable churches  in  the  country.  If  the  legend  is  to  be  be- 
lieved, St  Eusebius  himself,  on  his  return  from  a  pilgrimage  to 
the  Holy  Land,  deposited  there  a  wooden  statue  of  the  Virgin, 
carved  by  a  hand  no  less  holy  than  that  of  St.  Luke  the  Evan- 
gelist, which  he  was  desirous  of  securing  from  the  profanations 
of  the  Arians. 

In  this  sequestered  vale,  on  the  banks  of  this  lonely  lake,  sur- 
rounded by  the  shrubby  rocks  and  gentle  precipices,  —  in  this 


120  PIC  CI  OLA. 

church,  and  at  the  foot  of  the  miraculous  statue,  did  Giacomo 
Girardi  dream  away  five  years  of  his  young  existence  —  rejecting 
the  adoration  of  his  lovely  bride  for  that  of  the  wooden  lady  of 
Oroppa ! 

Incapable  of  distinguishing  between  credulity  and  faith,  una- 
ware that  superstition  may  degenerate  into  idolatry,  that  all  extremes 
are  unacceptable  to  Goi>,  he  little  suspected  that  it  was  not  the 
Mary  of  Scripture — the  mother  of  the  Redeemer — to  whom  he 
dedicated  his  prayers;  but  a  divinity  of  his  own, — the  tutelary 
genius  of  the  place.  Before  the  miraculous  image,  he  passed  his 
nights  and  days,  in  prayers  and  tears,  praying  for  a  higher  spirit- 
ualization,  and  weeping  over  imaginary  faults.  His  heart  was  that 
of  a  child, — his  mind,  that  of  a  fanatic.  In  vain  did  the  vicar,  his 
worthy  relative,  labour  to  repress  this  unnatural  fervour,  and  bring 
him  back  to  reason.  In  vain,  to  distract  his  thoughts  from  one 
fi.xed  and  dangerous  idea,  did  he  suggest  a  pilgrimage  to  other 
spots  of  peculiar  sanctity,  dedicated  to  the  worship  of  the  Virgin. 
Giacomo  would  not  hear  of  our  Lady  of  Loretto,  or  the  Saint 
Mary  of  Bologna  or  of  Milan.  He  was  infatuated  by  the  pretended 
virtue  of  a  material  image,  a  piece  of  black  and  worm-eaten  wood  ; 
and  pronounced  all  homage  to  its  celestial  prototype. 

The  sentiments  of  the  enthusiast,  if  they  eventually  lost  in  depth, 
gained  only  in  extent.  The  Virgin  of  Oroppa  was  surrounded  by 
a  whole  court  of  saints  and  saintesses  ; — and  to  each  of  these,  the 
infatuated  Giacomo  assigned  some  peculiar  duty  of  intercession. 
From  one,  he  implored  the  dispersion  of  the  clouds  charged  with 
hail-showers,  which,  from  the  heights  of  Monte  Mucrone,  some- 
times rattled  down  upon  his  beloved  valley.  To  another,  he 
assigned  the  task  of  comforting  his  mother  for  his  absence,  and- 
sustaining  the  spiritual  weakness  of  his  young  wife.  A  third,  he 
in)plored  to  watch  over  him  in  sleep, — a  fourth,  to  defend  him 
against  the  temptations  of  Satan.  His  devotion,  by  this  means, 
degenerated  into  an  impure  polytheism,  and  Mount  Oroppa  into  a 
new  Olympus,  where  every  divinity  but  the  one  Almighty  God 
was  honoured  with  a  shrine. 

Subjecting  himself  to  the  severest  discipline,  the  most  painful 
privations,  he  continued  to  macerate  himself,  to  fast,  to  remain 
whole  days  without  nourishment;  and  the  exhaustion  that  ensued 
was  qualified  with  the  name  of  divine  ecstacy  !  He  saw  visions, 
he  heard  revelations.  After  the  delusions  of  the  Quietists,  he  fan- 
cied that,  by  subjugating  his  physical  nature,  he  could  develope 
and  render  visible  his  soul.  But,  while  resigning  himself  to  this 
chimera,  and  holding  imaginary  discourse  with  his  immaterial 
nature,  Girardi's  health  gave  way,  and  his  reason  became  dis- 
ordered. 

One  day,  a  voice  seemed  to  address  him  from  on  high,  com- 


P  I  C  C  I  O  L  A  121 

mantling  him  to  go  and  convert  the  heretic  Waldenses,  remnants 
of  which  persecuted  sect  still  exist  in  the  Valais.  He  accordingly 
set  off,  traversed  the  country  adjoining  the  river  Sesia,  attained 
the  summit  of  the  Alps,  near  Monte  Rosa,  and  there,  suddenly 
arrested  in  his  course  by  the  snow  of  an  early  winter,  found  him- 
self under  the  necessity  of  passing  several  months  in  a  chalet. 

This  place  of  general  refuge,  designated,  in  the  language  of  the 
country,  las  strablas,  or  the  stables,  consisted  in  a  vast  shed,  five 
hundred  feet  square,  open  towards  the  south,  but  carefully  closed 
in  all  other  directions,  by  strong  pine  logs,  filled  in  with  moss  and 
lichens,  cemented  into  a  mass  by  resinous  gums.  Here,  in  incle- 
ment weather,  men,  women,  children,  flocks,  and  herds,  united 
together,  as  in  a  common  habitation,  under  the  control  of  the 
oldest  member  of  the  tribe.  A  large  hearth,  constantly  supplied 
with  fuel,  sparkled  in  the  centre  of  the  dwelling;  over  which  was 
suspended  an  enormous  boiler,  in  which,  alternately  or  together, 
the  food  of  the  community  was  prepared,  —  consisting  of  dried 
vegetables,  pork,  mutton,  quarters  of  chamois,  or  cutlets  of  the 
flesh  of  the  marmot;  eaten  afterwards  at  a  general  meal,  with 
bread  made  of  chestnut-meal,  and  a  fermented  liquor  made  from 
cranberries  and  whortleberries. 

Occupations  were  not  wanting  in  the  chalet.  The  children  and 
flocks  were  to  be  attended  to;  the  winter  cheeses  to  be  made;  the 
spinning,  which  was  incessantly  at  work;  and  instruments  of  hus- 
bandry, in  progress  of  manufacture,  to  force  into  cultivation,  during 
the  short  sunnner  season,  the  shallow  soil  of  the  adjacent  rocks. 
Garments  of  sheep-skin  were  also  manufactured;  baskets  of  the 
bark  of  trees;  and  a  variety  of  elegant  trifles,  carved  in  sycamore, 
or  larchwood,  for  sale  in  the  nearest  towns.  The  population  of 
the  chalet,  cheerful  and  laborious,  suffered  not  an  hour  to  pass 
unimproved;  and  songs  and  laughter  intermingled  with  the  strokes 
of  the  axe,  and  busy  murmur  of  the  wheel.  Labour  scarcely  ap- 
pealed a  task;  and  study  and  prayer  were  accounted  the  duty  and 
recreation  of  the  day.  Harmonious  and  well-practised  voices 
united  in  chorus  for  the  daily  execution  of  pious  canticles:  the 
elder  shepherds  instructed  the  young  in  reading  and  arithmetic; 
— nay,  even  in  music,  and  a  smattering  of  Latin;  for  the  civiliza- 
tion of  the  Higher  Alps,  like  its  vegetation,  seems  to  be  preserved 
under  the  snow  ;  and  it  is  no  uncommon  thing  to  see,  at  the  return 
of  spring,  scnool-masters  and  minstrels  descend  from  the  chalets, 
to  diff'use  knowledge  and  hilarity  among  the  agricultural  villages 
of  the  plain. 

The  worthy  hosts  of  Giacomo  proved  to  be  Waldenses.     The 
opportunity   was  an   auspicious  one  for  the  young  apostle;    but. 
scarcely  had  he  let  fall  a  word  of  the  purport  of  his  mission,  when 
the  octogenarian  chief  of  the  community,  high  in  the  renown,  se- 
ll 


122  P  I  C  C  I  O  L  A  . 

(mreJ,  among  these  humble  peasants,  by  a  life  of  industry  anJ 
virtue,  cut  short  his  expectations. 

"Our  fathers,"  said  he  to  the  young  man,  "endured  exile,  per- 
secutions, death,  —  rather  than  subscribe  to  the  iinage-worsl'ip 
practised  among  your  people.  Hope  not,  therefore,  that  your  feehle 
powers  will  elTect  what  centuries  of  persecution  failed  to  accom- 
plish. Stranger!  you  have  found  shelter  under  our  roof,  and 
therein,  for  your  own  safety,  must  abide.  Pray,  therefore,  to  God, 
according  to  the  dictation  of  your  own  conscience,  as  we  do  ac- 
cording to  ours;  but  be  advised  by  the  experience  of  a  gray-beard, 
and  take  part  in  the  labours  proceeding  around  you;  or,  in  this 
solitude,  remote  from  the  rumours  and  excitements  of  social  life, 
want  of  occupation  will  destroy  you.  Be  our  companion,  our 
brother,  so  long  as  the  winter  snows  weigh  upon  your  existence 
and  our  own;  and,  at  the  return  of  spring,  leave  us,  unquestioned, 
as  you  came;  without  so  much  as  bestowing  your  benediction  on 
our  hearth  : — nay,  without  even  turning  back  upon  your  path,  to 
salute,  by  a  farewell  gesture,  those  by  whose  fire  you  have  been 
warmed,  and  at  whose  frugal  board,  nourished.  For,  having  shared 
their  industry,  you  will  owe  them  nothing.  The  fruit  of  your  own 
labour  will  have  maintained  you ;  and,  should  any  debt  be  still 
owing,  the  God  of  mercy  will  repay  us  a  thousand-fold  for  our 
hospitality  to  the  son  of  the  stranger." 

Forced  to  submit  to  a  proposition  so  reasonable,  Giacomo  re- 
mained five  months  an  inmate  of  the  chfilet,  and  an  eye-witness 
of  the  virtuous  career  of  its  inhabitants.  Night  and  morning,  he 
heard  their  prayers  and  thanksgivings  offered  up  to  the  throne  of 
grace, — to  the  throne  of  the  one  omnipresent  God;  and  his  mind, 
no  longer  excited  by  the  objects  which  had  wrought  its  exaltation, 
became  gradually  composed  to  a  reasonable  frame.  When  the 
prison  of  ice,  constructed  for  him  by  nature,  ceased  to  hold  him 
captive,  and  the  sun,  shining  out  with  the  return  of  spring,  de- 
veloped before  his  eyes  all  the  beauty  and  majesty  of  the  moun- 
tain-scenery by  which  he  was  surrounded,  the  idea  of  the  Al- 
mighty Lord  of  the  universe  seemed  to  manifest  itself  powerfully 
to  his  mind,  and  resume  its  fitting  influence  on  his  heart. 

The  geniality  of  the  weather,  reviving  all  nature  around  him, 
with  her  swarming  myriads  of  birds  and  bees  hovering  over  the 
new-born  flowers,  starting  anew  to  life  from  beneath  their  winter 
mantle  of  snow,  awoke  in  his  bosom  correspondent  transports  of 
love  and  joy.  It  were  vain  to  dilate  on  the  expansion  of  human 
feelincr  which  gradually  enlarged  his  perceptions  The  good  old 
chief  had  begun  to  entertain  an  affection  for  him:  and,  though 
unlearned  in  pedantic  lore,  had  stored  up,  in  the  course  of  his 
long  existence,  an  infinity  of  facts  and  observations,  which,  joined 
to  those  inherited  from  the  lessons  of  his  fathers,  inspired  him 


PICCIOLA.  123 

with  knowledge  of  the  Creator  througii  the  wibdom  of  his  works 
In  a  word,  the  presumptuous  youth,  who  liad  entered  that  humble 
asyhim  for  the  purpose  of  converting  its  people  to  his  opinions, 
eventually  quitted  it,  himself  converted  to  their  own  ! — nay,  the 
industrious  habits  he  had  acquired,  and  the  examples  of  domestic 
happiness  he  had  witnessed,  had  brought  him  to  a  due  sense  of 
his  error  in  neglecting  tiie  happiness  and  duties  with  which  Pro 
\  idence  had  endowed  his  existence. 

Giacomo's  first  visit  after  quitting  Monte  Rosa,  was  to  the  con- 
vent in  which  his  wife  was  immured.  A  whole  romance  might 
be  developed  in  the  history  of  his  wooing,  and  the  difficulties  with 
which  his  courtship  was  beset.  Suffice  it,  that  after  many  months 
devoted  to  the  obliteration  of  the  lessons  he  had  himself  incul- 
cated, Girardi,  aided  by  the  influence  of  his  parents,  succeeded  in 
removing  his  wife  from  the  cloistral  seclusion  to  which  he  had 
devoted  her;  and  became,  in  the  sequel,  the  happiest  of  husbands 
and  of  fathers. 

The  errors  of  his  youth  were  now  redeemed  by  years  of  wis- 
dom and  of  virtue.  Established  in  his  native  city  of  Turin,  in 
the  enjoyment  of  a  handsome  fortune,  the  thriving  speculations  in 
which  he  was  engaged  might  have  rendered  it  colossal,  but  for  the 
systematic  benevolence  which  rendered  the  opulence  of  Girardi  a 
second  providence  to  the  poor.  To  do  good  was  the  occupation 
of  his  life;  his  favourke  recreation  was  the  study  of  animated 
nature.  Girardi  became  a  proficient  in  natural  history;  and  as 
God  is  greatest  in  the  least  of  his  works,  entomology  chiefly  en- 
gaged his  attention.  It  was  this  interest  in  the  organization  and 
habits  of  insects,  which  had  obtained  for  him  from  Ludovico,  in 
the  earlier  stages  of  his  imprisonment,  the  appellation  of  "  The 
Fly-catcher." 


CHAPTER   V. 

The  two  prisoners  had  no  longer  any  secrets  from  each  other ! 
After  glancing  rapidly  over  the  history  of  their  several  lives,  they 
returned  to  the  various  incidents  of  each,  and  the  emotions  to 
which  they  had  given  rise.  They  sometimes  spoke  of  Teresa; 
but  at  the  very  mention  of  her  name,  a  vivid  blush  overspread  tlie 
face  of  Charney,  and  the  old  man  himself  grew  grave  and  sad. 
Any  allusion  to  the  absent  angel  was  sure  to  be  followed  by  an 
interval  of  mournful  silence. 

Their  discourse  usually  turned  upon  the  discussion  of  some 


124  P  I  C  C  I  0  L  A . 

point  of  morality;  or  comments  upon  the  eccentricities  of  human 
nature.  Girardi's  philosophy,  mild  and  benevolent,  invested  the 
liappiness  of  man  in  the  love  of  his  fellow-creatures;  nor  could 
Charney,  though  half  converted  to  his  opinions,  understand  by 
what  menus  this  spirit  of  tenderness  and  indulgence  could  sur- 
vive the  injuries  which  the  philosopher  had  endured  from  man- 
kind. 

"Surely,"  said  he,  "you  must  have  bestowed  your  malediction 
on  those  who,  after  basely  calumniating  you,  tore  you  from  the 
bosom  of  domestic  happiness, — from  the  arms  of — —your  daugh- 
ter ?" 

"  The  offence  of  a  few,"  replied  Girardi,  "  was  not  to  subvert 
my  principles  of  action  towards  the  whole.  Even  those  few, 
blinded  by  political  fanaticism,  fancied  they  were  fulfilling  a  duty. 
Trust  me,  my  young  friend,  it  is  indispensable  to  survey  even  the 
injuries  we  receive  through  a  medium  of  pardon  and  pity.  Which 
of  us  has  not  required  forgiveness  for  faults?  Which  of  us  has 
not,  in  his  turn,  mistaken  error  for  the  truth?  St.  John  bequeathed 
to  us  the  blessed  axiom  that  God  is  love  !  True  and  beautiful 
proposition!  —  since  by  love  alone  the  soul  re-elevates  itself  to  its 
celestial  source,  and  finds  courage  for  the  endurance  of  misfor- 
tune! Had  I  entered  into  captivity  with  a  particle  of  hatred  in 
my  soul  against  my  fellow-creatures,  I  should  have  expired  in  my 
imbittered  loneliness.  But  Heaven  be  praised,  I  have  never  been 
the  prey  of  a  single  painful  reflection.  The  recollection  of  my 
good  and  faithful  friends,  whose  hearts  I  knew  were  suffering  with 
every  suffering  of  my  own,  served  to  stimulate  my  affection  to- 
wards mankind  ;  and  the  only  unlucky  moment  of  my  captivity 
was  that  in  which  I  was  debarred  the  sight  of  a  fellow-creature." 

"  How!"  cried  Charney,  "  were  you  ever  subjected  to  such  a 
deprivation  ?" 

"At  my  first  arrest,"  resumed  Girardi,  "I  was  transported  to  a 
dungeon  in  the  citadel  of  Turin ;  so  framed  as  to  render  commu- 
nication impossible  even  with  my  gaoler.  My  food  was  conveyed 
to  me  by  a  turning  box  inserted  in  the  wall ;  and  during  a  whole 
month  not  the  slightest  sound  interrupted  the  stillness  of  my  soli- 
tude. It  needs  to  have  undergone  all  I  then  experienced,  fully 
to  comprehend  the  fallacy  of  that  savage  philosophy  which  denied 
society  to  be  the  natural  condition  of  the  human  species.  The 
wretch  condemned  to  isolation  from  his  kind  is  a  wretch  indeed  ! 
To  hear  no  human  voice, — to  meet  no  human  eye, — to  be  denied 
the  pressure  of  a  human  hand, — to  find  only  cold  and  inanimate 
objects  on  which  to  rest  one's  brow, — one's  breast, — one's  heart; 
— is  a  privation  to  which  the  strongest  might  fall  a  victim  !  The 
month  I  thus  endured  weighed  like  years  upon  my  nature;  and 
when,  every  second  day,  I  discerned  the  footsteps  of  my  gaoler  in 


P  I  C  C  1  O  L  A  .  125 

the  corridor,  coming  to  renew  my  provisions,  the  mere  sound 
caused  my  heart  to  leap  within  me.  While  the  box  was  turning 
round,  I  used  to  strain  my  eyes  in  hopes  to  catch,  at  the  crevice, 
the  slightest  glimpse  of  his  faci  ,  his  hand,  his  very  dress;  and  my 
disappointment  drove  me  to  despair.  Could  I  have  discerned  a 
human  face,  even  bearing  the  characters  of  cruelty  or  wickedness, 
1  should  have  thought  it  full  of  beauty ;  and  had  the  man  extended 
his  arms  towards  me  in  kindness,  have  blessed  him  for  the  con- 
cession !  But  the  sight  of  a  human  face  was  denied  me  till  the 
day  of  my  translation  to  Fenestrella;  and  my  only  resource  con- 
sisted in  feeding  the  reptiles  which  shared  my  captivity,  and  in 
meditating  upon  my  absent  child !" 

Charney  started  at  the  allusion  :  but  his  venerable  companion 
was  himself  too  much  distressed  to  notice  the  emotion  of  his  young 
friend. 

"At  length,"  said  he,  after  a  long  pau«e,  which  served  to  re- 
store him  to  his  usual  serenity,  "  a  favourable  change  befel  me 
even  in  my  dungeon.  I  discovered,  by  means  of  a  straggling  ray 
of  light,  a  crevice  produced  by  the  insertion  of  an  iron  cross  by 
way  of  support  into  the  walls  of  my  dungeon  :  which,  though  it 
enabled  me  to  obtain  only  an  oblique  glimpse  of  the  opposite  wall, 
became  a  source  of  exquisite  enjoyment.  My  cell  happened  to  be 
situated  under  the  keep  of  the  citadel ;  and  one  blessed  day,  1, 
noticed  for  the  first  time  the  shadow  of  a  man  distinctly  reflected 
upon  the  wall.  A  sentinel  had  doubtless  been  posted  on  the  plat- 
form over  my  head  ;  for  the  shadow  went  and  came,  and  I  could 
distinguish  the  form  of  the  man's  uniform,  the  epaulet,  the  knap- 
sack, the  point  of  his  bayonet, — the  very  vacillation  of  his  feather! 

"  Till  evening  extinguished  my  resource,  I  remained  at  my 
post;  and  how  shall  I  describe  the  thrill  of  joy  with  which  I  ac- 
knowledged so  unexpected  a  consolation  !  I  was  no  longer  alone; 
— I  had  once  more  a  living  companion  !  —  Next  day  and  the  days 
succeeding,  the  shadow  of  another  soldier  appeared;  the  sentinels 
were  ever  changing,  but  my  enjoyment  was  the  same.  It  was 
always  a  man, — always  a  fellow-creature  1  knew  to  be  near  me; — 
a  living,  breathing  follow-creature, — whose  movements  I  could 
watch,  and  whose  dispositions  conjecture.  When  the  moment 
came  for  relieving  guard,  I  welcomed  the  new-comer,  and  bade 
good-by  to  his  predecessor.  I  knew  the  corporal  by  sight ;  I 
could  recognise  the  different  profiles  of  the  men;  nay,  (dare  I 
avow  such  a  weakness!)  some  among  them  were  objects  of  my 
predilection.  The  attitude  of  their  persons,  or  comparative  vi- 
vacity of  their  movements,  became  so  many  indicntions  of  charac- 
ter, from  which  their  age  and  sentiments  might  be  inferred.  One 
paced  gaily  along,  turning  lightly  on  his  heel,  balancing  his  mus- 
ket in  sport,  or  waving  his  head  in  cadence  to  the  air  he  was 
11* 


126  PICCIOLA. 

whistling;  he  was  doubtless  young  and  gay,  cheered  by  visions  of 
happiness  and  love.  Another  paced  along,  with  his  brow  inclining, 
pausing  often,  and  leaning  with  his  arms  crossed  upon  his  mus- 
ket, meditating  mournfully,  perhaps,  upon  his  distant  village,  his 
absent  mother,  his  ciiildhood's  friends.  He  passed  his  hand  ra- 
pidly over  his  eyes — perhaps  to  dash  away  the  tears  gathered  by 
these  tender  retrospections ! 

"  For  many  of  these  shadows  I  felt  a  lively  interest,  an  inex- 
plicable compassion ;  and  the  balm  thus  called  into  existence 
within  my  bosom  shed  its  soothing  influence  over  my  fate.  Trust 
me,  my  good  young  friend,  the  truest  happiness  is  that  we  derive 
from  our  sympathy  with  our  fellow-creatures." 

"  Why  did  I  not  become  earlier  acquainted  with  you,  excellent 
man?"  cried  Charney,  deeply  affected.  "How  different,  then, 
had  been  the  tenor  of  my  life  !  But  what  right  have  I  to  com- 
plain? Have  I  not  found  in  this  desolate  spot  all  that  was  denied 
me  amid  the  splendour  of  the  world  ? — a  devoted  heart — a  noble 
soul  —  an  anchor  of  strength  !  —  virtue  and  truth  —  Girardi  ar.d 
Picciola?" 

For  among  all  these  effusions  of  the  heart,  Picciola  was  not  for- 
gotten. The  two  friends  had  constructed  a  more  capacious  seat 
beside  her;  where,  side  by  side,  and  facing  the  lovely  plants  they 
passed  hour  after  hour  together,  all.  three  in  earnest  conversation. 
Charney  had  given  to  this  new  seat  the  name  of  "  The  Bench  of 
Conference." 

There  did  the  simple-minded  Girardi  aspire  for  once  to  elo- 
quence :  for  without  eloquence  in  the  expositor,  no  conviction. 
Nor  were  the  eloquence  or  conviction  wanting. 

The  bench  had  become  the  rostrum  of  a  professor;  a  professor, 
though  less  learned  than  his  scholar,  infinitely  wiser  and  more 
enlightened.  The  professor  is  Giacomo  Girardi,  the  pupil  the 
Count  de  Charney,  and  the  book  in  process  of  exposition  —  Pic- 
ciola! 


CHAPTER   VI. 

As  autumn  approached,  Charney  could  not  forbear  expressing 
to  his  friend,  as  they  sat  together  on  the  Bench  of  Conference,  his 
regret  at  losing  all  hopes  of  Picciola's  second  flowering,  and  his 
lamentations  over  her  last  blossom. 

Girardi  immediately  attempted  to  supply  the  loss  by  a  disserta- 
tion on  the  fructification  of  plants,  and  the  evidence  thereby  af- 
forded of  the  intervention  of  an  all-wise  Providence. 


PICCIOLA.  127 

Girardi  first  alluded  to  the  winged  form  of  the  seeds  of  certain 
plants,  whose  foliage,  large  and  complicated,  would  o|)pose  their 
dispersion,  but  for  the  feathery  tuft  attached  to  each,  which  causes 
them  to  float  in  the  atmosphere ;  and  described  the  elastic  pods  in 
which  others  are  enclosed,  which,  opening  by  a  sudden  spring,  at 
the  moment  of  maturity,  discharge  the  seed  to  a  distance.  "  These 
wings,  these  springs,"  observed  the  old  man,  "  are  hands  and  feet 
bestowed  upon  them  by  the  Almighty,  that  they  may  reach  their 
destined  place,  and  germinate  in  the  sunshine.  What  human  eye, 
for  instance,"  said  he,  "  is  able  to  follow,  in  their  aerial  flight, 
the  membranous  seeds  of  the  elm,  the  maple,  the  pine,  the  ash — 
circling  in  the  atmosphere  anud  volumes  of  other  seeds,  rising  by 
their  own  buoyancy,  and  apparently  flying  in  search  of  the  birds, 
of  which  they  are  to  form  the  nourishment?" 

The  old  man  next  proceeded  to  e.xplain  the  phenomena  of 
aquatic  plants;  how  the  seeds  of  those  destined  for  the  adornment 
of  brooks,  or  the  banks  of  lakes  or  ponds,  are  endowed  with  a 
form  enabling  them  to  float  upon  the  water,  so  as  to  deposit  them- 
selves in  various  parts  of  the  beach,  or  cross  from  one  bank  to 
another;  while  such  as  are  intended  to  take  root  in  the  bed  of  the 
river  fdl  at  once  by  their  own  weight  to  the  bottou!,  and  give  birth 
to  reeds  and  rushes,  or  those  beautiful  water-lilies,  whose  roots  are 
in  the  mud  beneath,  while  their  large  green  shining  leaves,  and 
snow-white  blossoms,  float  in  pride  and  glory  upon  the  bosom 
of  the  waters.  The  vallisneria  was  not  forgotten;  the  male  and 
female  plants  of  which  being  disunited,  the  former  uncoils  her 
long  spiral  peduncle,  to  raise  her  flower  above  the  surface  of  the 
stream,  while  the  male,  unpossessed  of  a  similar  faculty,  breaks 
its  fragile  flower-stalk,  and  rises  spontaneously  to  the  surface,  to 
accomplish  the  act  of  fecundation. 

"  How  is  it,"  cried  Charney,  "  that  men  remain  insensible  to 
the  existence  of  these  wondrous  prodigies  of  nature?" 

And  the  old  man  rejoiced  at  the  exclamation,  as  a  proof  that 
his  lessons  were  not  shed  upon  a  barren  and  ungrateful  soil. 

"  Tell  me,"  demanded  the  Count,  "  has  the  insect  creation,  to 
which  your  studies  have  been  peculiarly  addressed,  furnished  you 
with  f  icts  as  curious  as  those  for  which  I  am  indebted  to  my  Pic- 
ciola  ?" 

"So  curious,"  replied  Girardi,  "that  you  will  not  fully  appre- 
ciate even  tlie  marvels  of  Picciola  till  you  have  become  acquainted 
with  the  hosts  of  animated  beings  which  hover  over  her  verdant 
branches.  You  will  then  learn  to  admire  the  secret  laws  which 
connect  the  plant  with  the  insect,  the  insect  with  the  plant;  and 
perceive  that  '  order  is  Heaven's  first  law,'  and  that  one  vast  in- 
telligence influences  the  whole  creation." 

Girardi  was  proceeding  to  enlarge  upon  the  harmony  of  the 


128  PIC  CIO  LA. 

universe,  when,  pausing  .suddenly,  he  ))()inted  out  to  his  compa- 
liion  a  brilliant  and  beautiful  butterfly,  poised  on  one  of  the  twigs 
of  his  plant,  with  a  peculiar  (juiveriiig  of  the  wings.  "  See  !" 
cried  he,  "  Picciola  hastens  to  expound  my  theory  !  An  engage- 
ment has  just  been  contracted  between  her  and  yonder  insect, 
which  is  now  consigning  its  posterity  to  her  guardianship." 

And  when  the  butterfly  flew  away,  Charney  verified  the  asser- 
tion by  examining  a  little  group  of  eggs,  attached  by  a  viscous 
substance  to  the  bark. 

"  Do  you  imagine,"  inquired  Girardi,  "  that  it  is  by  chance  the 
butterfly  has  proceeded  hither,  to  intrust  to  Picciola  this  precious 
deposit?  On  the  contrary,  Nature  has  assigned  to  every  plant 
analogies  with  certain  insects.  Every  ])lant  has  its  insect  to  lodge, 
its  insect  to  feed.  Admire  the  long  chain  of  cojinexion  between 
them!  This  butterfly,  when  a  caterpillar,  was  nourished  on  the 
substance  of  a  plant  of  the  same  species  as  Picciola;  and  after 
undergoing  its  appointed  transformations,  and  become  a  butterfly, 
it  fluttered  faithless  from  flower  to  flower,  sipping  the  sweets  of  a 
thousand  different  nectaries.  But  no  sooner  did  the  moment  of 
maturity  arrive  for  a  creature  that  never  beheld  its  mother,  and 
will  never  behold  its  children,  (for  its  task  fulfilled,  it  is  now 
about  to  die,)  than,  by  an  instinct  surer  than  the  best  lessons  of 
experience,  it  flew  hither  to  deposit  its  progeny  on  a  plant  similar 
to  that  by  which,  under  a  different  form  and  in  a  different  season, 
it  was  fed  and  protected.  Instinctively  conscious  that  little  ca- 
terpillars will  emerge  from  its  eggs,  it  forgets,  for  their  sake,  the 
habits  it  has  acquired  as  a  butterfly ! 

"  Who  taught  her  all  this?  Who  endowed  her  with  memory, 
powers  of  reasoning,  and  recognising  the  peculiarities  of  a  vegeT 
table,  whose  present  foliage  bears  no  resemblance  to  that  which 
it  bore  during  the  spring?  The  most  experienced  botanist  is 
often  mistaken — the  insect,  never  !" 

Charney  involuntarily  testified  his  surprise. 

•'  You  have  still  more  to  learn,"  interrupted  Girardi.  "  Exa- 
mine the  branch  selected  by  the  insect.  It  is  one  of  the  largest 
and  strongest  on  the  tree;  not  one  of  the  new  shoots,  likely  to  be 
decayed  by  frost  during  the  winter,  or  broken  by  the  wind.  All 
this  has  been  foreseen  by  the  insect.  Whence  did  it  derive  such 
prescience?" 

"  Do  you  not  in  some  degree  deceive  yourself,  my  dear  friend  V' 
demanded  Charney,  unwilling  to  avow  how  much  he  was  con- 
founded by  these  discoveries. 

"Peace,  sceptic,  peace!"  replied  the  old  man,  with  an  accusinrr 
smile.  •'  You  will  admit,  at  least,  that  seeing  is  believing!  Pio 
ciola  has  now  her  part  to  play.  The  foresight  of  the  insect  is  not, 
greater  than  that  with  which  Nature  endows  the  plant  towards  the 


PI  mo  LA.  liQ 

legacy  bequeathed  by  the  butterfly ;  at  the  return  of  spring  we 
will  verify  the  prodigy  together.  The  moment  the  plant  puts 
forth  its  leaves,  the  tiny  eggs  will  break,  and  emit  the  larvae  they 
contain  :  a  law  of  harmony  regulates  the  vegetation  of  the  plant 
in  common  with  the  vitality  of  the  insect.  Were  the  larvae  to  ap- 
pear first,  there  would  be  no  food  for  them ;  were  the  leaves  to 
precede  them,  they  would  have  acquired  too  firm  a  consistency 
for  their  feeble  powers.  But  Nature,  provident  over  all,  causes 
both  plant  and  insect  to  develope  themselves  at  the  same  moment, 
to  grow  together,  and  together  attain  their  maturity  ;  so  that  the 
wings  and  flowers  of  each  are  simultaneous  in  their  display  of 
beauty." 

"Another  lesson  derived  from  my  gentle  Picciola!"  murmured 
the  astonished  Charney;   and  conviction  entered  into  his  soul  ! 

Thus  passed  the  days  of  the  captives,  in  mutual  solace  and  in- 
struction ;  and  when,  every  evening,  the  hour  arrived  for  retreat 
ing  singly  into  ti)e  camera  of  each,  to  wait  the  hour  of  rest,  the 
same  object  unconsciously  occupied  their  meditations;  for  Char- 
ney thought  of  Teresa,  and  Girardi  of  his  daughter,  exhausting 
their  minds  in  conjecture  as  to  her  present  destiny. 

The  young  girl  herself,  meanwhile,  was  not  inactive  on  their 
behalf.  Her  first  impulse  had  been  to  follow  the  Emperor  to  Mi- 
lan ;  where  Teresa  soon  discovered  that  it  is  as  diflicult  to  pene- 
trate through  the  antechamber  of  royalty  as  through  the  ranks  of 
an  army  The  friends  of  Girardi,  however,  roused  by  her  efforts, 
renewed  their  applications,  and  having  undertaken  to  procure,  at 
no  remote  period,  the  liberation  of  the  captive,  his  daughter,  some- 
what reassured,  returned  to  Turin,  where  an  asylum  was  offered 
her  in  the  house  of  a  near  relation. 

The  husband  of  this  relative  happened  to  be  the  librarian  of  the 
city;  and  to  him  did  Menon  address  himself,  to  select  the  botani- 
cal works  destined  for  the  use  of  the  prisoner  of  Fenestrella.  It 
was  no  difficult  matter  for  Teresa  to  infer  from  the  nature  of  the 
study  to  whom  these  books  were  destined  ;  and  she  accordingly 
managed  to  slip  into  one  of  the  volumes  the  mysterious  despatch, 
which,  even  if  discovered  by  the  commandant,  was  not  of  a  nature 
to  compromise  either  her  relation  or  the  protegi  in  whose  behalf 
she  had  already  ventured  so  largely.  She  was  still  ignorant  that 
her  father  and  Charney  no  longer  resided  in  each  other's  neigh- 
bourhood ;  and  when  the  news  of  their  separation  was  brought 
back  by  the  messenger  employed  to  convey  the  books  to  Fenes- 
trella, it  became  her  first  object  to  accomplish  the  reunion  of  the 
two  captives. 

After  addressing  letter  after  letter  on  the  subject,  to  the  governor 
of  Piedmont,  she  continued  to  interest  in  her  behalf  some  of  the 
chief  inhabitants  of  Turin   and,  through  them,  the  wife  of  Menoii, 


130  rice  10  LA. 

till  the  general,  having  strong  motives  for  desiring  to  conciliate 
his  influential  petitioners,  ended  by  granting  the  prayer  of  Teresa 
Girardi.  And  when,  under  the  auspices  of  Madame  Menon,  she 
came  to  offer  her  grateful  thanks  to  the  general,  the  veteran, 
touclied  by  the  devotedness  of  her  filial  tenderness,  laying  aside 
for  a  moment  the  harshness  of  his  nature,  took  the  young  girl 
kindly  by  the  arm,  as  he  addressed  her. 

"  You  must  come  and  visit  my  wife  from  time  to  time,"  said 
he.  "  In  about  a  month's  time  she  may  have  good  news  to  tell 
you." 

■^  And  Teresa,  nothing  doubting  that  the  good  news  would  consist 
in  an  order  for  her  readmission  into  the  fortress  of  Fenestrella,  to 
pass  a  portion  of  every  day  with  her  father,  threw  herself  at  the 
feet  of  the  general  with  a  countenance  bright  with  joy,  loading 
him  with  grateful  acknowledgments. 

While  all  this  was  proceeding  undreamed  of  by  the  two  cap- 
tives, Charney  and  Girardi  sat  enjoying  on  their  bench  a  glorious 
October  sunshine,  restoring,  or  rather  forestalling  around  them, 
the  warmth  and  promise  of  spring.  Both  were  pensive  and  silent, 
leaning  severally  on  the  opposite  arms  which  c-losed  in  the  rustic 
seat.  They  might  have  passed  for  estranged  or  indifferent  to  each 
other,  but  for  the  wistful  looks  cast  from  time  to  time  by  Charney 
upon  his  companion,  who  was  absorbed  in  a  profound  reverie.  It 
was  not  often  that  the  countenance  of  Girardi  was  overshadowed 
by  sadness — no  wonder,  therefore,  that  the  Count  should  mistake 
the  motives  of  his  depression. 

"Yes!"  cried  he,  replying,  as  he  fancied,  to  the  looks  of  his 
friend ;  "  captivity  is,  indeed,  a  purgatory  !  To  be  imprisoned 
for  an  imaginary  offence, — to  live  apart  from  all  we  love." 

But  ere  he  could  proceed,  Girardi,  raising  his  head,  gazed  with 
surprise  upon  the  Count.     "  True,  my  dear  friend  !"   he  replied 
"  separation  is  one  of  the  severest  trials  of  human  fortitude  !" 

"/your  friend!"  interrupted  Charney,  with  bitterness.  "Have 
you  the  charity  to  bestow  such  a  name  upon  me — upon  me,  who 
am  the  cause  of  your  being  parted  from  her?  for  it  is  of  you? 
daughter  you  are  thinking!  Deny  it  not!  Teresa  is  the  object 
of  these  mournful  meditations  ;  and,  at  such  a  moment,  how  odious 
must  I  be  in  your  sight !" 

"  Believe  me,  you  are  mistaken  in  your  conjectures,"  mildly 
interrupted  the  venerable  man.  "  Never  was  the  image  of  my 
daughter  invested  with  such  consolatory  associations  as  to-day. 
For  Teresa  has  written  to  me : — I  have  received  a  letter  from  my 
child." 

"  Written  to  you, — you  have  a  letter  from  her, — they  have  suf- 
fered it  to  reach  your  hands!"  cried  Charney,  insensibly  drawing 


nccioLA.  131 

nearer  to  his  companion.    Then  checking  his  exultation,  he  added, 
"  But  you  have,  doubtless,  learned  some  afflicting  tidings?" 
"  Far  from  it,  I  assure  you." 
*'  Wherefore,  then,  this  depression?" 

"Alas!  my  dear  friend,  such  is  the  frailty  of  human  nature; 
such  is  the  mingled  yarn  of  human  destiny  !  A  regret  is  sure  to 
embitter  our  sweetest  hopes.  The  happiness  of  this  life  casts  its 
shadow  before,  and  it  is  by  the  shadow  that  our  attention  is  first 
attracted.  You  spoke  of  separation  from  those  we  love.  Here 
is  my  letter ! — read  it,  and  learn  what  considerations  depress  ray 
s,piiuts  while  seated  by  your  side." 

Charney  took  the  letter,  and  for  some  moments  held  it  unopened 
in  his  hand  : — his  eyes  fixed  on  the  countenance  of  Girardi,  he 
seemed  desirous  of  reading  there  the  intelligence  it  contained. 
On  examining  the  address  lie  recognised  with  emotion  the  hand- 
writing of  his  precious  billet;  and  at  length  unfolding  the  paper, 
attempted  to  read  aloud  the  contents.  But  his  voice  faltered, — 
the  words  expired  upon  his  lips;  and  stopping  short,  he  concluded 
the  letter  almost  inaudibly  to  himself. 

"  Dearest  father,"  wrote  Teresa,  "  bestow  a  thousand  kisses 
upon  the  paper  you  hold  in  your  hands;  for  a  thousand  and  a 
thousand  have  I  impressed  upon  it,  as  harvest  for  your  venerated 
lips ! 

"  What  joy  for  us  both,  this  renewal  of  correspondence!  It  is 
to  General  Menon  we  are  indebted  for  the  concession; — he  it  is 
who  has  put  an  end  to  a  silence  which,  even  more  than  distance, 
seemed  to  keep  us  asunder.  Blessings  be  upon  him  !  Note,  dear 
father,  our  thoughts,  at  least,  may  fly  towards  each  other; — /shall 
communicate  my  hopes  to  sustain  your  courage;  you,  your  griefs, 
in  weeping  over  whicii  I  shall  fancy  I  am  weeping  in  your  pre- 
sence !  But  if  a  greater  happiness,  dearest  father,  were  in  reserve 
for  us!  For  a  moment,  I  beseech  you,  lay  aside  my  letter,  and 
summon  your  strength  to  hear  the  sudden  joy  I  am  about  to  excite 
in  your  bosom.  Father  !  If  I  were  once  more  permitted  to  be 
with  you  ! — to  approach  you, — to  listen  to  your  instruction, — to 
surround  you  with  my  attentions!  Throughout  the  two  years  in 
which  we  enjoyed  this  alleviation  of  our  affliction,  captivity  seemed 
to  sit  lightly  on  your  spirits;  and  I  entertain  the  hope, — yes,  the 
earnest,  earnest  hope,  that  the  favour  will  be  again  vouchsafed 
me; — that  I  shall  be  once  more  permitted  to  enter  your  prison  !" 

"  Teresa  about  to  visit  you  ! — here  in  the  fortress  !"  cried  Char- 
ney, wild  with  joy. 

"  Read  on!"  —  replied  the  old  man,  in  a  melancholy  tone, — 
"  read  on !" 

"  I  shall  be  once  more  permitted  to  enter  your  prison,"  resumed 
Charney,  repeating  the  last  sentence.     "  Are  you  not  happy  in 


1 32  P  I  C  C  I  O  L.  A  . 

such  a  prospect?  Are  you  not  overjoyed?"  continued  Teresa. 
"  Pause  a  moment,  to  consider  the  good  tidings  I  have  thus  an- 
nounced !  Do  not  hurry  on  towards  the  conclusion  of  my  letter. 
Violent  emotions  are  sometimes  dangerous.  Have  I  not  already 
said  enough?  Were  an  angel  to  descend  from  heaven,  charged 
with  the  accomplishment  of  our  wishes,  you  would  not  presume 
to  require  more;  but  I,  your  child,  might  venture,  ere  he  re- 
ascended  to  his  native  skies,  /  might  be  tempted  to  implore  your 
liberation  from  captivity.  At  your  age,  father,  it  is  a  cruel  thing 
to  be  denied  the  sight  of  your  native  country.  The  banks  of  our 
beloved  Doria  are  so  beautiful;  and  in  our  gardens  on  the  Col- 
lina,  the  trees  planted  by  my  poor  mother  and  brother  have 
acquired  surprising  growth  during  your  absence.  There,  more 
than  on  any  other  spot,  survives  the  precious  memory  of  those  we 
have  lost. 

"Then,  father,  there  are  your  friends; — the  friends  who  have 
supported,  by  their  generous  efforts,  my  applications  to  govern- 
ment. I  am  sure  you  regret  your  absence  from  them ;  I  am  sure 
you  would  delight  in  seeing  them  again.  Oh!  father,  father!  the 
pen  seems  to  burn  in  my  hand  !  My  secret  is  about  to  escape  me ! 
It  has,  probably,  already  escaped  me!  You  have,  doubtless,  sum- 
moned all  your  courage  to  learn  definitively  that,  in  a  few  days,  I 
am  about  to  rejoin  you,  not  to  lend  my  aid  in  softening  your  cap- 
tivity, but  to  announce  its  termination ;  not  to  be  with  you  at 
stated  hours,  and  within  the  walls  of  a  prison ;  but  to  carry  you 
away  with  me  in  triumph  from  Fenestrella  ;  —  free,  proud,  —  ay, 
proud  ! — for  you  have  now  a  right  to  resume  your  pride.  Your 
faithful  friends,  Cotenna  and  Delarue,  did  not  rest  till  they  ob- 
tained, not  your  pardon,  but  your  justification.  Yes,  your  inno- 
cence is  fully  recognised  by  the  imperial  government. 

"  Farewell,  dearest  and  best  of  fathers.  How  I  love  you  !  how 
happy  do  I  feel  at  this  moment !  and  how  much  happier  shall  I  be 
when  again  folded  in  your  arms !     Your  own 

"  Teresa." 

The  letter  did  not  contain  a  single  word  in  reference  to  Char- 
ney.  That  word — that  hoped-for  word — how  eagerly  did  he  seek 
for  it  in  every  page  and  line ! — how  eagerly,  and  how  vainly.  Yet, 
notwithstandirlg  his  disappointment,  it  was  a  cry  of  joy  that  burst 
from  the  lips  of  the  Count,  when  he  concluded  the  letter. 

"  You  will  soon  be  free  !"  cried  he ;  "  soon  able  to  rest  under 
the  shadow  of  green  trees,  and  behold  the  rising  of  the  sun!" 

"Yes!"  replied  the  old  man.  "But  I  am  also  about  to  leave 
you!  Such  is  the  shadow  which  precedes  my  happiness  to-day,  to 
prevent  my  joy  from  falling  into  excess." 

"  Think  not  of  wir,  I  beseech  you  !"  cried  Charney;  proving,  by 


IMC  CI  OLA.  133 

his  generous  transports,  and  forgetfulness  of  self,  how  truly  he 
deserved  the  friendship  of  which  he  was  the  object.  "At  last,  you 
will  be  restored  to  her  arms !  At  last,  she  will  cease  to  suffer  from 
the  consequence  of  my  rashness!  You  will  be  happy,  and  I  no 
longer  oppressed  by  the  heaviness  of  remorse.  During  the  last  few 
hours  that  remain  for  us  to  be  together,  we  may  at  least  talk  of 
her  unreservedly." 

And,  as  he  uttered  these  last  incoherent  words,  the  Count  de 
Charney  threw  himself  into  the  arms  of  his  venerable  friend. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

The  knowledge  of  their  approaching  separation  seemed  only  to 
augment  the  tender  affection  existing  between  the  two  friends. 
Seldom  an  hour  apart,  both  seemed  eager  to  continue  till  the  last 
moment  their  conferences  on  the  bench  of  the  little  court. 

There  was  a  solemn  subject,  to  which  Girardi  often  endeavoured 
to  lead  the  way ;  but  Charney  invariably  evaded  the  discussion. 
The  old  man  was,  however,  too  deeply  interested  in  sounding  the 
opinions  of  the  Count  to  be  easily  discouraged  ;  and  one  day  an 
occasion  unexpectedly  presented  itself  for  the  accomplishment  of 
his  wishes. 

"  How  unaccountable  the  chance,"  cried  Charney,  after  a  short 
silence,  "which  united  us  in  this  place;  naturally  divided  as  we 
are  by  difference  of  birth-place,  of  languages,  of  faith,  of  pre- 
judices !  Yet,  in  spite  of  all  these  obstacles,  we  have  met  at 
Fenestrella,  to  unite  in  the  same  religious  principles,  the  same 
adoration  of  the  one  supreme  Being." 

"  On  that  point,  give  me  leave  to  differ  with  you,"  said  Girardi, 
with  a  smile.  "  To  lose  sight  of,  is  not  to  deny.  Our  views  have 
never  been  the  same." 

"  Certainly  not.  But  which  of  the  two,  the  bigot  or  the  scep- 
tic, was  most  mistaken? — which  the  most  deserving  pity?" 

"Yourself!"  replied  the  old  man,  without  hesitation, —  "yes, 
my  dear  young  friend,- yourself!  All  extremes  are  dangerous;  but 
in  superstition,  there  is  faith,  passion,  vitality  ;  and  in  scepticism, 
universal  night, — universal  death.  Superstition  is  the  pure  stream 
diverted  from  its  natural  channel,  which  inundates,  submerges, 
and  displaces  the  vegetable  soil ;  but  conveys  it  elsewhere,  and 
repairs,  farther  on  its  course,  the  injuries  it  has  produced  ;  while 
scepticism  is  drought,  dearth,  sterility  ;  burning  and  scorching  up, 
transmuting  earth  to  sand,  and  rendering  the  mighty  Palmyra  a 
12 


134  P  I  C  C  I  O  L  A  . 

ruin  of  the  oesert.  Not  content  with  placing  an  eternal  bar  be- 
twixt us  and  the  Creator,  incredulity  relaxes  the  bonds  of  society, 
and  destroys  the  ties  of  kindred  and  affection.  In  depriving  man 
of  his  importance  as  a  being  eternally  responsible,  it  creates  around 
him  isolation  and  contempt.  He  is  alone  in  the  world, —  alone 
with  his  pride ;  or,  as  I  said  before,  alone  as  a  ruin  in  the  desert." 

"Alone  with  his  pride!"  murmured  Charne^y,  reclining  his 
elbow  on  the  arm  of  the  bench,  and  his  face  upon  his  hand, 
"Pride! — of  what! — of  knowledge?  —  of  science?  Oh!  why 
should  man  labour  to  destroy  the  elements  of  his  happines'^.  by 
seeking  to  analyze  them,  or  to  sound  their  depths?  Even  if  in- 
debted for  his  joys  to  a  deception,  why  seek  to  raise  the  mask, 
and  accelerate  the  disenchantment  of  his  future  life?  Is  truth  so 
dear  to  him?  Does  knowledge  suffice  the  desires  of  his  ambition? 
Madman! — such  was  my  own  delusion.  'I  am  but  a  worm,'  said 
I  to  myself,  '  a  worm  destined  to  annihilation  :'  then,  raising  my- 
self in  the  dust  where  I  was  crawling,  I  felt  proud  of  the  dis- 
covery,— vain  of  my  helpless  nakedness.  I  believed  neither  in 
virtue  nor  happiness;  but,  at  the  thought  of  annihilation,  I  stop- 
ped proudly  short,  and  accorded  my  unlimited  faith.  My  degra- 
dation appeared  a  triumph  to  me,  —  for  it  was  assured  by  a  dis- 
covery of  my  own.  Was  I  not  justified  in  my  estimation  of  a 
theory,  for  which  I  had  given  in  exchange  no  less  than  my  regal 
mantle, — the  countless  treasure  of  n)y  immortality?" 

The  old  man  extended  his  hand  encouragingly  towards  his  com- 
panion. 

"  Be  judged  by  your  own  image  of  the  worm,"  said  Girardi. 
"  The  worm,  after  crawling  its  season  on  the  earth,  fed  with  bitter 
leaves,  condemned  to  the  slime  of  the  marsh,  or  the  dust  of  the 
road,  constructs  his  own  chrysalis,  a  temporary  cofHn ;  from  which 
to  emerge,  transformed,  purified, — to  flutter  from  flower  to  flower, 
and  feed  upon  their  precious  perfumes.  On  two  radiant  wings, 
the  new  creature  takes  its  flight  towards  the  skies,  even  as  man, 
the  image  of  his  Creator,  rises  to  the  bosom  of  his  God." 

Charney  replied  by  a  negative  movement  of  the  head. 

"Your  disease  was  more  deeply  rooted  than  my  own,"  observed 
Girardi,  with  a  mournful  smile,  "  for  your  convalescence,  I  see, 
will  be  more  tedious.  Have  you  already  forgot  the  lesions  c( 
Picciola?" 

"  Not  one  of  them  !"  replied  Charney,  in  a  tone  of  deep  eirio 
tion.  "I  believe  in  God.  I  believe  in  a  first  cause.  I  believe 
in  an  omniscient  Power,  the  eternal  Controller  of  the  universe. 
But  your  comparison  of  the  worm  supposes  the  immortality  of  the 
soul;   and  by  what  is  it  demonstrated  to  my  reason?" 

"  By  the  instincts  of  the  human  soul,  which  irresistibly  impel 
us  to  look  forward  with  hope  and  joy.     Our  life  is  a  life  of  expeo 


PIC  CIO  LA.  135 

tdtiori.     From  infancy  to  old  age,  hope  is  the  dominating  pole  of 

•  ur  destinies.  In  what  savage  nation  of  the  earth  has  not  the  doc- 
trine of  a  future  state  been  found  existent?  And  wliy  should  not 
the  hope  thus  conceded  be  accomplished?  Is  the  power  of  God 
more  infinite  than  the  mind  of  his  creatures?  I  do  not  invoke  the 
authority  of  revelation  and  the  Holy  Scriptures.  All  convincing 
to  myself:  for  you  they  possess  no  authority.  The  breeze  which 
impels  the  ship,  is  powerless  to  move  the  rock  :  for  the  rock  has 
no  expanding  sails  to  receive  its  impulse,  and  its  feet  are  buried 
in  the  ponderous  immobility  of  earth.  Shall  we  believe  in  the 
eternity  of  matter,  and  not  in  that  (jf  the  intelligence  which 
serves  to  regulate  our  opinions  concerning  matter?  Or  are  we  to 
suppose  that  love,  virtue,  genius,  result  from  the  affinity  of  certain 
terrestrial  molecules?  Can  that  which  is  devoid  of  thought  enable 
us  to  think?  Can  brute  matter  be  the  basis  of  human  intelli- 
gence, when  human  intelligence  is  able  to  direct  and  govern 
matter?  Why  then  do  not  stocks  and  stones  think  and  feel  as 
we  do?" 

"  Locke,  the  great  English  metaphysician,  was  inclined  to  sup- 
pose that  matter  might  be  endowed  with  ideas,"  observed  Char- 
ney  "  'J'here  was  contradiction,  indeed,  in  his  theory,  since  he 
rejected  the  doctrine  of  innate  ideas,  and  seemed  to  admit  the 
possibility  of  intuitive  knowledge."  Then  interrupting  himself 
with  a  laugh,  the  Count  exclaimed,  "  Have  a  care,  my  kind  in- 
structor !  I  see  you  would  fain  involve  me  once  more  in  the 
quicksand  of  doubt,  or  plunge  me  into  the  bottomless  pit  of  meta- 
physics !" 

"I  have  no  knowledge  of  metaphysics,"  said  Girardi,  gravely. 

"  And  I  but  little,"  observed  Charney ;  "  not,  however,  for  want 
of  devoting  my  time  to  tlie  study.  But  let  us  drop  a  subject  un- 
profitable, and,  perhaps,  injurious.  You  believe, — rejoice  in  your 
belief!  Your  faith  is  dear  to  you  ;  and  if,  perchance,  I  should 
shake  its  foundations" — 

"I  defy  you  to  the  contest!"  cried  Girardi. 

"  What  have  you  to  gain  by  the  result?" 

"  Your  conversion ;  nothing  less,  my  dear  young  friend,  than 
your  conversion.  Just  now  you  quoted  Locke.  Of  that  eminent 
philosopher  I  know  but  a  single  trait; — that  through  life,  and 
even  on  his  death-bed,  he  asserted  the  true  happiness  of  mankind 
to  consist  in  purity  of  conscience,  and  hope  in  eternal  life." 

"  I  perfectly  comprehend  the  consolation  to  be  derived  from 
such  a  creed ;  but  my  better  reason  forbids  me  to  accept  it.  I 
entreat  you,  let  us  drop  the  subject,"  said  the  Count  de  Charney 

And  a  constrained  silence  ensued. 

Soon  afterwards,  something  which  had  been  circling  over- 
head, suddeidy  alighted  on  the  foliage  of  the  plant;  a  greenish 


i36  P  I  C  C  I  O  L  A . 

insect,  of  which  the  narrow  corslet  was  undulated  with  whitish 
stripes. 

"Sir!"  cried  Charney,  "behold  in  good  time  a  new  text  en- 
abling you  to  enlarge  upon  the  mysteries  of  creation." 

Girardi  took  the  insect  with  due  precaution  :  examined  it  care- 
fully ;  paused  for  reflection ;  and  suddenly  an  expression  of  tri- 
umph developed  itself  in  his  countenance  An  irresistible  argu- 
ment seemed  to  have  fallen  from  heaven  in  his  hands.  Com- 
mencing in  his  usual  professional  tone,  he  gradually  assumed  a 
more  sublime  expression,  as  the  secret  object  of  his  lesson  pene- 
trated through  his  language. 

"  Mere  fly-catcher  as  I  am,"  he  began  with  an  arch  smile,  "I 
must  restrict  myself  to  my  humble  attributions,  and  not  presume 
to  affect  the  pedantry  of  the  scholar." 

"  The  most  enlightened  mind,"  said  Charney,  "  the  mind  which 
has  profited  most  largely  by  the  acquirement  of  knowledge,  is  that 
which  soonest  discovers  the  limitation  of  its  own  powers,  after 
vainly  attempting  to  penetrate  into  the  hidden  mysteries  of  things. 
Genius  itself  breaks  its  wings  against  such  obstacles,  without 
having  extracted  from  the  wall  of  flints,  by  which  it  is  obstructed, 
one  spark  of  the  light  of  truth." 

"  We  ignoramuses,"  observed  Girardi,  "  arrive  sooner  at  our 
object,  by  taking  the  most  direct  road.  If  we  do  but  open  our 
eyes,  God  deigns  to  reveal  himself  in  the  august  sublimity  of  his 
works." 

"On  that  point  we  are  agreed,"  interrupted  Charney. 

"  Proceed  we  then  in  our  course.  An  herb  of  the  field  sufficed 
to  prove  to  you  the  existence  of  a  Providence;  a  butterfly,  the  law 
of  universal  harmony :  the  insect  before  us,  of  which  the  organi-. 
zation  is  of  a  still  higher  order,  may  lead  us  still  farther  towards 
conviction." 

Charney,  at  the  instance  of  his  friend,  proceeded  to  examine 
the  little  stranger  with  curious  attention. 

"  Behold  this  insignificant  creature,"  resumed  Girardi.  "All 
that  human  genius  could  effect,  would  not  add  one  tittle  to  an 
organization,  perfectly  adapted  to  its  wants  and  necessities.  It 
has  wings  to  transport  it  from  one  place  to  another ;  elytra  to  in- 
case and  secure  them  from  the  contact  of  any  hard  substance. 
Its  breast  is  defended  by  a  cuirass,  its  eyes  by  a  curious  network 
that  defies  the 'prick  of  a  thorn  or  the  sting  of  an  enemy.  It  pos- 
sesses anteimae  to  interrogate  the  obstacles  that  present  themselves, 
— feet  to  attain  its  prey, — iron  mandibles  to  assist  in  devouring  it, 
in  difging  the  earth  for  a  refuge,  or  a  depository  for  its  food  or 
eggs.  If  a  dangerous  adversary  should  approach,  it  has  in  reserve 
an  acrid  and  corrosive  fluid,  by  discharging  which  it  defies  its 
enemies      Instinct  teaches  it  to  find  its  food,  to  provide  its  lodg 


PIC  CIO  LA.  l:j7 

ing,  and  exercise  its  powers  of  offence  and  defence.  Nor  is  this 
a  solitary  instance.  Other  insects  are  endowed  with  similar  deli- 
cacy of  organization  ; — the  imagination  recoils  with  wonder  from 
the  multiplicity  and  variety  of  provisions  invented  by  nature  for 
the  security  of  the  apparently  feeble  insect  tribe.  We  have  still 
to  consider  this  fragile  creature  as  demonstrating  the  line  of  de- 
marcation between  mankind  and  the  brute  creation. 

"  Man  is  sent  naked  into  the  world, — feeble,  helpless, — unen- 
dowed with  the  wings  of  a  bird,  the  swiftness  of  the  stag,  the  tor- 
tuous speed  of  the  serpent;  without  means  of  defence  against  the 
claws  or  darts  of  an  enemy,  nay,  against  even  the  inclemency  of 
the  weather.  He  has  no  shell,  no  fleece,  no  covering  of  fur,  nor 
even  a  den  or  burrow  for  his  hiding-place.  Yet  by  force  of  his 
natural  powers,  he  has  driven  the  lion  froin  his  cave, — despoiled 
the  bear  of  his  shaggy  coat  for  a  vestment,  and  the  bull  of  his 
horn  to  form  a  drinking-cup.  He  has  dug  into  the  entrails  of  the 
earth,  to  bring  forth  elements  of  future  strength;  the  very  eagle, 
in  traversing  the  skies,  finds  itself  struck  down  in  the  midst  of 
its  career  to  adorn  his  cap  with  a  trophy  of  distinction. 

"Which  of  all  the  animal  creation  could  have  supported  itself 
in  the  midst  of  such  difficulties  and  such  privations?  Let  us  for 
a  moment  suppose  the  disunion  of  power  and  action, — of  God 
and  nature.  Nature  has  done  wonders  for  the  insect  before  us; 
for  man,  apparently  nothing.  Because  man,  an  emanation  from 
God  himself,  and  formed  after  his  image,  was  created  feeble  and 
helpless  as  regards  the  organization  of  matter,  in  order  to  demon- 
strate the  divine  influence  of  that  ethereal  spark,  which  endows 
him  with  all  the  elements  of  future  greatness." 

"Explain  to  me,  at  least,"  interrupted  Charney,  "the  peculiar 
value  of  this  precious  gift,  bestowed,  you  say,  exclusively  upon 
the  human  species; — superior  in  many  points  to  the  animal  crea- 
tion, surely  we  are  inferior  in  the  majority.  This  very  insect, 
whose  wondrous  powers  you  have  expounded,  inspires  me  with  a 
sense  of  inferiority  and  profound  humiliation." 

"  From  time  immemorial,"  replied  Girardi,  "  animals  have  dis- 
played no  progress  in  their  powers  of  operation.  What  they  are 
to-day,  such  have  they  ever  been ;  what  to-day  they  know,  they 
have  known  from  the  beginning  of  the  world.  If  born  so  lavishly 
endowed,  it  is  because  they  are  incapable  of  improvement.  They 
live  not  by  their  own  will,  but  by  the  impulse  imparted  to  them 
by  nature.  From  the  creation  until  now,  the  beaver  has  con- 
structed his  lodge  upon  the  same  plan ;  the  caterpillar  and  spider 
woven  their  cocoons  and  tissues  of  the  same  form;  the  bee  pro- 
jected his  cell  of  the  same  hexagon  ;  the  lion-ant  traced,  without  a 
compass,  its  circles  and  arches.  The  character  of  tlmr  labours 
is  th  It  of  exactitude  and  uniformity;  that  of  man,  diversity, — for 
12  * 


139  P  1  C  C  I  O  L  A  . 

human  labour  arises  from  a  free  and  creative  faculty  of  mind. 
Judge  therefore  between  them ! — Of  all  created  beings,  man 
alone  possesses  the  idea  of  duty,  of  responsibility,  of  contempla- 
tion, of  piety.  Alone  of  all  the  earth  he  is  endowed  with  insight 
into  futurity,  and  the  knowledge  of  life  and  death." 

"Bat  is  this  knowledge  an  advantage  ?  is  it  a  source  of  happi- 
ness?" demanded  the  Count.  "Why  has  God  bestowed  upon  us 
reason  by  which  we  are  led  astray,  and  learning  which  serves  but 
to  perplex  us?  With  all  our  superiority,  how  often  are  we  forced 
to  despise  ourselves! — Why  is  the  exclusively  privileged  being 
the  only  one  liable  to  error?  Is  not  the  instinct  of  animals  pre- 
ferable to  our  glimmering  reason?" 

"  Both  species  were  not  created  for  the  same  end.  God  re- 
quires not  virtue  of  the  brute  creation.  Were  tltiy  endowed  with 
reason,  with  liberty  of  choice  as  regards  their  food  and  lodgment, 
the  equilibrium  of  the  world  would  be  destroyed.  The  will  of 
the  Creator  decided  that  the  surface  of  the  globe,  and  even  its 
depths,  should  be  filled  with  animated  beings, — that  life  should 
pervade  the  universe;  in  pursuance  of  which,  plains,  valleys, 
forests,  from  the  mountain  top  to  the  lowest  chasms, — trees,  rocks, 
rivers,  lakes,  oceans,  from  the  sandy  desert  to  the  marshy  swamp, 
— in  all  climates  and  latitudes, — from  one  pole  to  the  other,  —  all 
is  peopled, — all  instinct  with  life,  all  blended  in  one  va.st  sphere 
of  existence.  Whether  sheltered  in  the  depths  of  the  wilderness, 
or  behind  a  blade  of  grass,  the  lion  and  the  pismire  are  alike  at 
the  post  assigned  them  by  nature.  Each  has  his  part  to  play,  his 
place  to  guard,  his  predestined  line  of  action  ;  each  is  enchained 
within  his  proper  bound  ;  for  every  square  of  the  infinite  chess- 
board was  from  the  first  appropriately  filled.  Man  alone  is  free  to 
range  over  all,  to  traverse  oceans  and  deserts; — pitch  his  tent  on' 
the  sand,  or  construct  a  floating  palace  on  the  waters;  to  defy  the 
Alpine  snows  or  the  fervours  of  the  torrid  zone  : — 

"  '  The  world  is  all  before  him,  where  to  choose 
His  place  of  rest,  and  Providence  his  gui<le  "  " 

*'  But  if  Providence  indeed  exert  such  influence,  from  whence 
the  crimes  arising  in  all  human  communities,  and  the  disasters 
which  overwhelm  mankind?"  cried  Charney.  "I  sympathize  in 
your  admiration  of  all  created  things;  my  reason  is  overwhelmed 
when  I  examine  the  mighty  whole,  but  on  descending  to  the  his 
tory  of  the  humnn  species — " 

"  My  friend,"  interrupted  Girardi,  "arraign  not  the  wisdom  of 
the  Almighty  because  of  the  errors  of  mankind,,  the  devastations. 
of  a  hurricane,  or  the  eruptions  of  a  volcano!  Immutable  laws 
are  imprinted  upon  matter  ;  and  the  work  of  ages  is  accomplished, 
whether  a  vessel  founder  in  a  storm,  or  a  city  disappear  beneath 


I'  I  C  C  I  O  L  A  .  139 

the  surface  of  the  earth.  Of  what  account  in  the  sight  of  the 
Almighty  a  kw  human  existences  more  or  less?  Does  the  Su- 
preme Being  believe  in  tlie  reality  of  death,  the  darkness  of  the 
grave? 

"No!  But  He  has  conferred  on  our  souls  the  power  of  self 
government,  and  this  is  proved  by  the  independence  of  our  pas- 
sions. I  have  portrayed  animals  submitted  to  the  irresistible  influ- 
ence of  instinct,  —  possessing  only  blind  tendencies,  and  the 
qualities  inherent  in  their  several  species.  Man  alone  is  the  pa- 
rent of  his  virtues  and  his  vices;  man  alone  is  endowed  with  free 
agency;  because  for  him  this  earth  is  a  place  of  probation.  The 
tree  of  good  and  evil  which  we  cultivate  here,  is  to  bear  its  fruits 
in  a  higher  or  a  lower  region.  Do  you  imagine  the  omniscient 
God  so  unjust  as  to  leave  the  afflictions  of  the  virtuous  unrewarded? 
Were  this  world  the  limit  of  our  reward  and  punishment,  the  man 
who  dies  by  a  stroke  of  lightning  ought  to  be  accounted  a  male- 
factor, and  the  fortune  of  tlie  prosperous  should  suffice  as  a  certi- 
fication of  excellence!" 

Charney  listened  in  silence  :  impressed  by  the  simple  eloquence 
of  his  instructor,  his  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  noble  countenance 
on  which  the  excitement  of  a  mind  innately  pious  was  imprinting 
an  almost  august  character  of  inspiration. 

"  But  why,"  at  length  murmured  the  Count,  "  why  has  not  God 
vouchsafed  us  the  positive  certainty  of  our  inmiortality  ?" 

"  Doubt  was  perhaps  indispensable,"  replied  the  venerable  man, 
rising  and  placing  his  hand  affectionately  on  the  shoulder  of  his 
youthful  companion,  "  to  repress  the  vanity  of  human  reason. 
What  is  the  merit  of  virtue,  if  its  rewards  be  assured  beforehand? 
What  would  become  of  free  will?  The  soul  of  man  is  expansive, 
but  not  infinite; — vast  in  its  power  of  apprehending  its  own  dis- 
tinctions, and  of  appreciating  the  Creator  by  the  mightiness  of  his 
works;  yet  so  limited  as  to  render  it  profoundly  sensil)le  of  its 
dependence  upon  Providence.  Man  is  permitted  a  glimpse  of  his 
destinies — Faith  must  effect  the  rest. 

**  Oh  !  mighty  and  all-seeing  God  !"  cried  Girardi,  —  suddenly 
interrupting  himself,  and  clasping  his  hands  in  all  the  fervour  of 
supplication,  "lend  me  the  strength  of  thine  arm  to  upraise  from 
the  dust  this  man  who  is  struggling  with  his  human  weakness  and 
the  desire  to  reach  thy  fountains  of  light!  Lend  me  thy  wisdom 
to  direct  the  aspirations  of  this  longing  and  bewildered  soul  ! 
Lend  eloquence  to  the  words  of  my  lips,  that  they  may  be  endued 
with  the  strength  and  power  of  the  faith  that  is  in  me !  The  hum- 
blest of  thy  creations — a  flower,  and  an  insect — have  startled  the 
sceptic  in  his  self-security ;  give  grace  to  those,  O  Lord  !  if  not 
to  n»e,  to  perfect  the  work  thine  infinite  mercy  has  begun ;  and  if 


140 


P  1  C  C  I  O  L  A . 


not  by  me,  by  the  humble  plant  before  us,  be  the  miracle  of  thy 
holiness  accomplished!" 

The  old  man  was  silent.  An  ecstacy  of  prayer  had  taken  pos- 
session of  his  soul ;  and  when,  at  the  close  of  his  unuttered  devo- 
tions, he  turned  towards  his  companion,  Charney  was  bending  his 
head  upon  his  hands,  clasped  together  upon  the  back  of  the  bench 
where  they  were  sitting.  On  raising  his  head,  his  countenance 
bore  traces  of  the  most  devout  meditation. 


CHAPTER    VIII 


In  the  purified  heart  of  Charney,  the  blood  now  flowed  more 
calmly  :  in  his  expanded  mind,  mild  and  consolatory  ideas  suc- 
ceeded each  other  in  gentle  gradation.  Like  the  wise  Pied- 
niontese,  his  friend,  he  was  fully  alive  to  the  conviction  that  hap- 
piness connects  itself  indissolubly  with  love  of  our  fellow-creatures; 
and  in  striving  to  people  his  imagination  with  thos*;  to  whom  he 
was  bound  by  ties  of  gratitude;  the  Empress,  Girardi,  and  Ludo- 
vico,  presented  themselves  first  to  his  mind.  But  at  length,  two 
female  shadows  became  perceptible  at  either  extremity  of  this 


,  P  I  C  C  I  O  L  A  .  141 

rainbow  of  love,  expanding  after  the  storm,  jusl  as  jve  see  in  altar- 
pieces,  two  seraphim,  with  brows  inclined,  and  half-closed  wings, 
supporting  the  arch  of  the  picture. 

One  of  these  shadows  was  the  fairy  of  his  dreams, — the  maiden 
Picciola,  emanating,  fresh,  fair,  and  blooming,  from  the  perfumes 
of  his  flower;  the  other,  the  guardian  angel  of  his  prison,  —  his 
second  providence, — Teresa  Girardi. 

By  a  sinofular  inconsistency,  the  former,  whose  existence  was 
purely  ideal,  haunted  his  memory  in  a  fixed,  distinct,  and  positive 
form;  he  could  discern  the  varying  expression  of  her  brow,  the 
glittering  of  her  eye,  the  smile  of  her  lips; — such  as  she  had  once 
appeared  to  him  in  his  dreams,  such  was  she  ever  manifested. 
VVhereas  Teresa,  on  whom  he  had  never  fixed  his  eyes,  or  only 
wiiile  still  under  the  influence  of  a  waking  dream,  under  what 
traits  could  he  summon  her  to  his  remembrance?  In  hfr  instance, 
the  countenance  of  the  seraph  was  veiled;  and  when  Charney,  in 
despair,  attempted  to  raise  the  veil,  it  was  still  the  face  of  Picciola 
that  smiled  upon  him  :  of  Picciola,  multiplying  herself  as  if  for 
the  purpose  of  interrupting  the  homage  he  would  fain  have  offered 
to  her  rival. 

One  morning,  the  prisoner  of  Fenestrella,  though  wide  awake, 
fancied  himself  alarmingly  deminated  by  this  strange  hallucination. 
The  day  was  dawning.  Having  risen  from  his  cheerless  bed,  he 
was  musing  upon  Girardi,  who,  prepared  for  his  speedy  release 
from  prison,  had  infused  such  tenderness  into  his  adieu  of  the 
preceding  night,  that  the  Count  had  been  kept  all  night  sleepless 
by  the  impression  of  their  approaching  separation.  After  pacing 
his  room  for  some  time  in  silence,  he  looked  out  from  his  grated 
window  upon  the  bench  of  conference,  where,  only  the  evening 
before,  he  had  been  engaged  with  Girardi  in  conversation  relative 
to  his  daughter;  and  lo !  through  the  gray-hued  mists  of  autumn, 
he  fancied  he  could  discern  a  woman, — the  figure  of  a  young  and 
graceful  woman, — seated  on  the  spot.  She  was  alone,  and  in  an 
inclining  attitude ;  as  if  engaged  in  contemplation  of  the  flower 
before  her. 

Recalling  to  mind  the  probability  of  Teresa's  arrival,  Charney 
naturally  exclaimed — "  It  is  herself!  Teresa  is  arrived  !  I  am 
about  to  see  her  for  a  moment,  and  then  behold  her  face  no  more ; 
and  in  losing  her,  I  shall  also  be  deprived  of  my  venerated  com- 
panion." 

As  he  spoke,  the  figure  turned  towards  his  window;  and  the 
countenance  revealed  to  him  by  the  movement  was  no  other  than 
the  face  of  his  dream-love  —  of  Picciola,  —  still  and  always,  Pic- 
ciola ! 

Stupified  by  the  discovery,  he  passed  his  hand  over  his  brow, 
his  eyes,  his  garments,  the  cold  iron  bars  of  his  window — in  order 


142  P  I  C  G  I  O  L  A . 

to  be  satisfied  that  he  was  awake,  and  that  this  time,  at'  least,  it 
was  not  a  dream. 

The  young  woman  rose,  moved  a  few  paces  towards  him,  and 
smiling  and  blushing,  addressed  him  a  contused  gesture  of  saluta- 
tion ;  but  Charney  made  no  acknowledgment,  either  of  the  smile 
or  the  gesture  by  which  it  was  accompanied.  He  kept  his  eye 
fixed  upon  the  graceful  form  which  traversed  the  misty  court;  a 
form  in  every  point  resembling  that  with  which  his  ideal  Picciola 
was  invested  in  the  dreams  of  his  solitude.  Fancying  himself 
under  the  influence  of  delirium,  he  threw  himself  on  the  bed,  in 
hopes  of  recovering  his  composure  and  presence  of  mind.  Some 
minutes  afterwards,  the  door  opened,  and  Ludovico  made  his  ap- 
pearance. 

"Oime!  oimi ! — Sad  news  and  great  news,  eccellenza!"  cried 
he.  "  One  of  my  birds  is  about  to  take  flight — not  over  the  walls, 
indeed,  but  over  the  drawbridge.  So  much  the  better  for  him, 
and  the  worse  for  you." 

"Is  it  to  be  to-day,  then?"  demanded  Charney,  in  a  tone  of 
emotion. 

"  I  hardly  know,  Signor  Conte;  but  it  can't  be  far  off";  for  the 
act  of  release  has  been  already  signed  in  Paris,  and  is  known  to 
be  on  its  way  to  Turin ;  at  least,  so  the  young  lady  just  now  told 
her  father  in  my  hearing." 

"How!"  cried  Charney,  starting  from  his  reclining  attitude. 
"  She  is  arrived,  then — she  is  here!" 

"At  Fenestrella,  eccellrnza,  since  yesterday  evening,  and  pro- 
vided with  a  formal  order  for  her  admission  into  the  fortress.  But 
there  is  a  special  injunction  against  letting  down  the  drawbridge 
after  hours,  for  a  female;  so  she  was  obliged  to  put  off"  her  vjsit 
till  this  morning,  Capo  di  Dio  !  I  knew  she  was  there,  but  kept 
the  secret  as  close  as  wax.  Not  a  syllable  did  I  let  fall  before  the 
poor  old  gentleman,  or  he  would  not  have  had  a  wink  of  sleep. 
The  night  would  have  seemed  as  long  as  ten,  had  he  known  that 
his  child  was  so  near.  This  morning  she  was  up  before  the  sun ; 
and  waited  for  admittance  at  the  gates  of  the  citadel,  in  the  morn- 
ing fogs, — like  a  good  soul  and  good  daughter,  as  she  is." 

"And  did  she  not  wait  some  time  in  the  courtyard,  —  seated 
yonder  on  the  bench?"  cried  Charney,  confounded  by  all  he  was 
hearing.  And,  rushing  to  the  window,  he  cast  an  inquiring  glance 
anew  upon  the  little  court,  adding,  in  an  altered  voice,  "  But  she  is 
gone,  I  see !  she  is  there  no  longer !" 

"Of  course  not, — noio ;  but  she  was  there  half  an  hour  ago," 
replied  the  gaoler.  "  She  stayed  in  the  court  while  I  went  up 
stairs  to  prepare  her  father  for  the  visit;  for  the  poor  young  lady 
had  heard  that  people  may  die  of  joy.  Joy,  you  see,  excellenza,  is 
like  spirituous  liquors; — a  thimblefull,  now  and  then,  does  a  man 


P  I  C  C  I  O  L  A  .  143 

a  power  of  good ;  but,  let  him  toss  off  a  whole  gourd,  and  there  's 
an  end  of  him  al  once.  Now,  bless  their  poor  hearts,  they  are 
together;  and,  seeing  them  so  happy,  j^ty  Bacco,  I  found  myself 
suddenly  all  of  a  no-how;  which  made  me  think  of  your  excel- 
lency, and  how  you  were  about  to  be  deprived  of  your  friend  ; 
and  so  I  made  off  to  remind  you  that  Ludovico  will  still  be  left 
you, — to  say  nothing  of  Picciola.  To  be  sure,  poor  thing,  she  is 
losing  her  beauty; — scarce  a  leaf  left.  But  that  is  the  natural 
effect  of  the  season.     You  must  not  despise  her  for  that." 

And  the  gaoler  quitted  the  room,  without  waiting  the  reply  of 
Charney ;  who,  deeply  affected,  vainly  tried  to  explain  to  himself 
the  mysteries  of  his  vision.  He  was  now  almost  persuaded  that 
the  sweet  figure  by  which  his  dreams  were  haunted,  to  which  he 
had  assigned  the  name  of  Picciola,  was  the  creature  of  remi- 
niscence;— that,  absorbed  by  interest  in  his  plant,  he  had  cast  his 
eyes  on  Teres  i  Girardi,  as  she  stood  at  the  grated  window,  and 
unwittingly  received  an  impression  eventually  reproduced  by  his 
dreams. 

While  he  was  thus  reasoning,  the  murmur  of  two  voices  reached 
nim  from  the  stairs;  and,  in  addition  to  the  well-known  steps  of 
the  old  man,  gliding  over  the  stones,  he  could  distinguish  the  light, 
airy  foot  of  one  who  scarcely  seemed  to  touch  the  steps  as  she  de- 
scended. At  length,  the  measured  sound  ceased  at  his  door.  He 
started.     But  Girardi  made  his  appearance  alone. 

"  My  daughter  is  here,"  said  the  old  man.  "  She  is  waiting  for 
us  beside  your  plant." 

Charney  followed  in  silence.  He  had  not  courage  to  articulate 
a  syllable.  A  consciousness  of  pain  and  constraint  chased  every 
feeling  of  pleasure  from  his  heart. 

Was  this  the  consequence  of  being  about  to  present  himself  be- 
fore a  woman  to  whom  he  was  so  largely  indebted,  and  towards 
whom  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  discharge  the  obligation  ;  or  of 
shame  for  his  ungraciousness  of  the  morning,  in  neglecting  to  re- 
turn her  smile  and  salutation?  As  the  time  of  separation  from 
Girardi  approached,  were  his  fortitude  and  resignation  forsaking 
him  \  No  matter  what  the  motive  of  his  embarrassment  in  pre- 
senting himself  before  Teresa  Girardi,  no  one  could  have  dis- 
cerned, in  his  language  or  demeanour,  traces  of  the  brilliant  and 
popular  Count  de  Charney:  —  the  ease  of  the  man  of  the  world, 
the  self-possession  of  the  philosopher,  had  given  place  to  an  awk- 
wardness, a  hesitation,  which  called  forth,  in  the  answers  of  Teresa, 
a  correspondent  tone  of  coldness  and  circumspection. 

In  spite  of  all  Girardi's  exertions  to  place  his  daughter  and  his 
friend  on  an  agreeable  footing,  their  conversation  turned  only 
upon  indifferent  subjects,  or  trite  remarks  upon  the  dawning 
hopes  of  all  parties.     Having  in  some  degree  recovered  from  hie 


144  PIC  CI  OLA. 

emotion,  Charney  read,  in  the  features  of  the  lovely  Piedmonteso., 
only  tiie  most  complete  indiflerence;  and  persuaded  himself  that 
the  services  she  had  rendered  him  had  been  instigated  by  the 
impulses  of  a  generous  disposition  ;  or,  perhaps,  by  the  commands 
of  her  father. 

Charney  began  almost  to  regret  that  the  interview  had  taken 
place;  for  he  felt  that  he  could  never  more  invest  her,  in  his  reve- 
ries, with  her  former  fascinations.  While  all  three  were  seated  on 
the  bench,  Girardi,  wrapt  in  contemplation  of  his  daughter,  and 
Charney  giving  utterance  to  a  few  cold,  incoherent  remarks,  there 
escaped,  from  the  folds  of  Teresa's  dress,  as  she  was  drawn  sud- 
denly forward,  by  the  tender  embrace  of  her  father,  a  medallion 
of  gold  and  crystal.  On  stooping  to  pick  it  up,  Charney  could 
readily  discern  that  one  side  was  occupied  by  a  lock  of  her  father's 
gray  hair ;  and  the  other  by  a  withered  flower.  He  looked  again ; 
he  gazed  anxiously ;  he  could  not  mistake  it.  'i'he  hidden  trea- 
sure was  the  identical  flower  of  Picciola  which  he  had  sent  her 
by  Ludovico. 

Teresa  had  kept  his  flower,  then — had  preserved  it — treasured 
it  with  the  gray  hairs  of  her  father — the  father  whom  she  adored  ! 
The  flower  of  Picciola  no  longer  adorned  the  raven  tresses  of  the 
young  girl,  but  rested  upon  her  heart!  This  discovery  produced 
an  instantaneous  revolution  in  the  sentiments  of  Charney.  He 
began  to  reconsider  the  charms  of  Teresa,  as  if  a  new  personage 
had  offered  herself  to  his  observation — as  if  he  had  seen  her  meta- 
morphosed by  enchantment  before  his  eyes. 

The  Count  now  perceived  that,  as  she  turned  her  expressive 
looks  towards  her  father,  the  two-fold  character  of  tenderness  and 
placidity  impressed  upon  her  beauty,  was  analogous  with  that  of 
Raphael's  Madonnas; — that  she  was  lovely  with  the  loveliness  of 
a  pure  and  perfect  soul.  Charney  retraced,  with  deliberate  admi- 
ration, her  animated  profile — her  countenance,  expressive  of  the 
union  of  strength  and  softness,  energy  and  timidity.  It  was  long 
since  he  had  looked  upon  a  new  human  face; — how  much  longer 
since  he  had  contemplated,  in  combination,  youth,  beauty,  and 
virtue!  The  spectacle  seemed  to  intoxicate  his  senses;  and,  after 
a  glance  at  the  graceful  form  and  perfect  symmetry  of  Teresa 
Girardi,  his  wandering  eyes  fixed  themselves  once  more  on  the 
medallion. 

"You  did  not  disdain  my  humble  offering,  then!"  faltered  the 
Count;  and  faint  as  was  the  whisper  in  which  the  words  were 
conveyed,  they  roused  the  pride  of  Teresa ;  who,  advancing  her 
hand  to  receive  the  trinket,  replaced  it  hurriedly  in  her  dress 
But  at  that  moment  she  was  struck  by  the  change  of  expression 
visible  in  the  features  of  the  Count;  and  both  their  faces  became 
sulFused  with  blushes. 


P  I  C  C  I  0  L  A  .  145 

"What  is  tlie  matter,  my  dear  child?"  demanded  Girardi,  no- 
ticing her  confusion. 

"Nothing!"  she  replied  with  emotion.  Then,  as  if  ashamed 
of  phiying  the  hypocrite  with  her  parent,  suddenly  added,  "  This 
medallion,  father,  contains  a  lock  of  your  hair."  Then,  as  she 
turned  towards  Charney, — "And  this  flower,  sir,  is  the  one  you 
sent  me  by  Ludovico.  I  have  preserved  it,  and  shall  keep  it  for- 
ever." 

In  her  words, — in  the  sound  of  her  voice, — in  the  intuitive 
modesty  which  induced  her  to  unite  her  father  and  the  stranger 
in  her  explanations,  there  u;is  at  once  so  much  ingenuousness  and 
purity  of  feminine  instinct,  that  Charney  began  for  the  first  time 
to  appreciate  the  true  mer'ts  of  Teresa  Girardi. 

The  remainder  of  that  happy  day  elapsed  amid  effusions  of 
mutual  friendship,  which  <  vory  moment  seemed  to  enhance.  In- 
dependent of  the  secret  power  which  attracts  us  towards  another, 
the  progress  of  friendship  is  always  rapid  in  proportion  to  the 
time  we  know  to  be  allowed  us  for  the  cultivation  of  dawning  par- 
tiality. This  was  the  first  day  that  Charney  and  Teresa  had  con- 
versed together ;  but  they  had  had  occasion  to  think  so  much  of 
each  other,  and  so  few  hours  were  assigned  them  to  be  together, 
that  a  mutual  acquaintance  was  speedily  accomplished;  so  that, 
when  Charney,  impelled  by  good  breeding  and  good  feeling, 
would  fain  have  retired,  in  order  to  afford  an  opportunity  to  the 
father  and  daughter,  so  long  separated,  to  converse  together  alone, 
Girardi  and  Teresa  alike  opposed  the  movement  of  retreat. 

"Are  you  about  to  leave  us  1"  said  the  latter.  "  Do  you,  then, 
consider  yourself  a  stranger  to  my  fi^ther,  or  to  me?"  added  the 
young  girl  in  a  tone  of  gentle  reproach.  And,  in  order  to  make 
him  fully  apprehend  how  little  restraint  was  imposed  upon  her 
by  his  presence,  Teresa  Iipgan  to  detail  to  her  father  all  that 
had  befallen  her  from  the  moment  of  her  departure  from  Fenes- 
trella,  and  the  means  she  had  employed  to  bring  together  the  two 
captives;  addressing,  at  the  conclusion  of  her  narrative,  a  request 
to  Charney,  to  relate  all  the  little  events  of  the  citadel,  and  the 
progress  of  his  studies  connected  with  Picciola.  After  this  ap- 
peal, the  Count  did  not  hesitate  to  confess  the  history  of  his  early 
miseries, — the  tedium  of  his  captivity, — and  the  blessing  vouch- 
safed him  in  the  arrival  of  his  plant:  while  Teresa,  gay  and  naive, 
stimulated  his  confession,  by  the  liveliness  of  her  inquiries  and 
repartees. 

Seated  between  the  two,  and  holding  a  hand  of  each, — of  the 
daughter  thus  restored  to  him,  and  the  friend  he  was  about  to 
leave, — the  venerable  Girardi  listened  to  their  discourse  with  an 
air  of  mingled  joy  and  sadness.  At  one  moment,  when,  by  a 
spontaneous  movement,  he  was  about  to  clasp  his  hands,  those 
13 


146  P  I  C  C  1  O  L  A  . 

of  Charney  and  Teresa  were  brought  almost  into  contact,  the  two 
young  people  appeared  startled,  touched,  embarrassed,  and,  though 
silent,  communicated  their  emotion  to  each  other  by  a  rapid 
glance.  But,  without  affectation  or  prudery,  Teresa  soon  disen- 
gaged her  hand  from  that  of  her  father ;  and,  placing  it  affection- 
ately on  his  shoulder,  looked  smilingly  towards  the  Count,  as  if 
inviting  him  to  resume  his  narrative. 

Enchanted  and  emboldened  by  so  much  grace  and  candour, 
Charney  described  the  reveries  produced  by  the  emanations  of 
his  plant.  How  could  he  forbear  allusion  to  that  which  consti- 
tuted the  great  event  of  his  captivity  ?  He  spoke  of  the  fair  being 
whom  he  had  been  induced  to  worship  as  the  personification  of 
Picciola;  and,  while  tracing  her  portrait  with  warmth, — or  rather 
transport, — the  smiles  of  Teresa  gradually  disappeared,  and  her 
bosom  swelled  with  agitation. 

The  narrator  was  careful  to  assign  no  name  to  the  soft  image 
he  tried  to  call  up  before  their  eyes ;  but  when,  in  completing  the 
history  of  the  disasters  of  his  plant,  he  reached  the  moment  when, 
by  order  of  the  commandant,  the  dying  Picciola  was  on  the  eve 
of  being  torn  up  before  his  eyes,  Teresa  could  not  refrain  from  a 
cry  of  sympathy. 

"  My  poor  Picciola  !"  cried  she. 

"  Thine  !"  reiterated  her  father,  with  a  smile. 

"Yes,  mine!  Did  I  not  contribute  to  her  preservation?"  per 
sisted  Teresa. 

And  Charney,  in  confirming  her  title  to  the  adoption,  felt  as  if, 
from  that  moment,  a  sacred  bond  of  community  were  established 
between  them  for  evermore. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Gladly  would  the  Count  de  Charney  have  renounced  his  liberty 
for  the  remainder  of  his  days,  could  he  have  secured  the  sentence 
of  passing  them  at  Fenestrella,  between  Teresa  Girardi  and  her 
father.  He  no  longer  deceived  himself  He  felt  that  he  loved 
Teresa  as  he  had  never  loved  before.  A  sentiment  to  which  his 
breast  had  hitherto  been  a  stranger,  now  penetrated  into  its  depths, 
impetuous  and  gentle,  sweet  and  stimulating,  like  some  acid  fruit 
of  the  tropics,  at  once  sweet  and  refreshing.  His  new  passion  re- 
vealed itself  not  only  by  transports  hitherto  unknown,  but  by  the 
serene  glow  of  a  holy  tenderness,  embracing  universal  nature ; 
nay,  the  great  Lord  and  Creator  of  nature  and  nature's  works. 


P  I  C  C  I  0  L  A  .  147 

His  brain,  his  heart,  his  whole  existence,  seemed  to  dilate,  as  if  to 
embrace  the  new  hopes,  projects,  and  emotions,  crowding  on  his 
regenerate  existence. 

Next  day,  the  three  friends  met  again  beside  Picciola  ;  Girardi 
and  the  Count  occupying  their  bench,  and  Teresa  a  chair  of  state, 
placed  opposite  them  by  the  gallantry  of  Ludovico.  She  had 
brought  with  her  some  task  of  woman's  work,  some  strip  of  deli- 
cate embroidery,  over  which  her  soft  countenance  inclined,  her 
graceful  head  following  the  movements  of  her  needle ;  and  every 
now  and  then  raising  her  eyes  and  suspending  her  work,  to  inter- 
pose some  playful  remark  in  their  grave  dissertations.  At  length 
suddenly  rising,  she  crossed  over  towards  her  father,  threw  her 
arms  round  his  neck,  and  pressed  her  lips  repeatedly  to  his  re- 
verend locks. 

The  conversation  between  the  two  disputants  was  not  renewed: 
for  Charney  was  already  absorbed  in  profound  meditation.  He 
could  not  forbear  inquiring  of  himself  whether  he  were  beloved 
in  return  by  Teresa! — a  question  which  produced  two  conflicting 
sentiments  in  his  bosom.  He  feared  to  believe  —  he  trembled  to 
doubt.  'J"he  flower — his  gift — so  carefully  preserved, — the  emotion 
evinced  when  their  hands  were  accidentally  united  on  the  knees 
of  the  old  man,  —  the  tremor  with  which  she  had  listened  to  the 
recital  of  his  impassioned  dreams, — all  this  was  in  his  favour.  But 
the  words  breathed  with  so  tender  an  inflexion  of  voice  had  been 
pronounced  in  the  presence  of  her  father;  what  sense,  therefore, 
dared  he  assign  to  her  tokens  of  compassion,  her  deeds  of  kind- 
ness and  devotion?  Had  she  not  afforded  proofs  of  the  same  good- 
will before  they  had  even  met — before  even  an  interchange  of  looks 
and  words  had  taken  place  between  them  1  What  right  has  he  to 
interpret  in  his  favour,  the  indications  of  feeling  he  has  since  de- 
tected in  her  deportment? 

No  matter:  of  his  own  attachment,  at  least,  he  is  certain.  He 
not  only  loves  Teresa,  but  has  sworn  within  his  heart  of  hearts  to 
love  her  through  life  and  death;  substituting  for  an  ideal  image, 
henceforward  superfluous,  one  of  the  most  charming  realities  of 
human  nature. 

But  the  attachment  of  which  he  is  thus  conscious  is  a  secret  to 
be  preserved  in  the  inmost  archives  of  his  soul :  it  would  be  a 
sin,  a  crime,  to  invoke  the  participation  of  Teresa  in  his  passion. 
What  right  has  he  to  imbitter  the  happy  prospects  of  her  life? 
Are  they  not  destined  to  live  apart  from  each  other?  she,  free, 
happy,  in  the  mid«.t  of  a  world  which  she  embellishes,  and  where 
she  will  doubtless  soon  confer  happiness  on  another  in  the  bosom 
of  domestic  life;  while  he,  in  his  solitary  prison,  must  consecrate 
himself  to  eternal  solitude  and  eternal  regrets  for  his  momentarv 
happiness 


148  P  I  C  C  I  O  L  A  . 

No!  his  passion  shall  be  sedulously  concealed.  He  will  assume 
towards  Teresa  Girardi  the  demeanour  of  a  person  wholly  indif- 
ferent, or  satisfy  himself  with  the  calm  demonstrations  of  a  pru- 
dent and  equable  friendship.  It  would  be  too  deep  a  misfortune 
for  him — for  both — were  he  to  succeed  in  engaging  her  atfections. 

Full  of  these  fine  projects  for  the  future,  the  first  sounds  that 
meet  his  ear  on  the  cessation  of  his  r-^verie,  were  the  following 
sentences  interchanged  between  Teresa  and  her  father,  the  former 
of  whom  was  exerting  all  her  eloquence  to  persuade  the  old  man 
that  the  moment  of  his  liberation  was  at  hand  ;  while  Girardi 
persisted  in  expressing  a  conviction  t'^at  the  remainder  of  the 
year  would  expire  without  producing  any  material  change  in  his 
destinies,  "  I  know  the  dilatoriness  of  public  functionaries," 
said  he  ;  "I  know  the  vacillations  of  government.  So  little  suf- 
fices as  a  pretext  for  the  suspension  of  justice,  and  the  cooling  of 
a  great  man's  mercy  !" 

"  If  such  is  your  opinion,"  cried  Teresa,  "  I  will  return  to-mor- 
row to  Turin,  to  hasten  the  fulfilment  of  their  promises." 

"  What  need  of  so  much  haste?"  demanded  her  father. 

"  How,  dear  father  !"  she  replied,  "  is  it  possible  that  you  prefer 
your  mean  and  narrow  chamber,  and  this  wretched  court,  to  your 
beautiful  villa  and  gardens  on  the  Collina?" 

This  seeming  anxiety  on  the  part  of  Teresa  to  leave  Fenes- 
trella  ouo-ht  to  have  convinced  Charney  that  he  was  belored,  and 
that  the  dano-er  that  he  dreaded  for  the  object  of  his  romantic 
attachment  was  already  consummated.  But  the  part  he  had  in- 
tended to  play  was  now  wholly  frustrated.  Instead  of  affecting 
indifference,  tranquillity,  or  even  the  reserve  of  a  prudent  friend- 
ship, he  manifested  only  the  petulance  of  a  lover.  Teresa,  how^ 
ever,  remained  apparently  unconscious  of  his  fit  of  perversity  ;  and 
was  not  deterred  by  his  resentment  from  repeating,  that  if  the 
decree  of  her  father's  liberation  should  be  again  delayed,  it  was 
her  duty  to  set  off  for  Turin,  and  renew  her  solicitations  to 
General  Menon ;  nay,  even  for  Paris,  for  a  personal  application  to 
the  Emperor.  Usually  so  reserved  and  mild,  the  fair  Piedmontese 
seemed  excited  on  the  present  occasion  to  unusual  vivacity. 

"  I  scarcely  understand  you  this  morning,"  said  her  father, 
amazed  to  observe  the  gaiety  of  her  deportment  in  presence  of 
the  poor  prisoner  whom  they  were  about  to  abandon  to  his  mis- 
fortunes; and  if  her  father  found  something  to  regret  'in  her  de- 
meanour, how  much  rather  the  grieved  and  disappointed  Char- 
ney! 

The  same  reflections  which  had  perplexed  his  mind  the  pre- 
ceding night  had,  in  fact,  been  passing  also  through  the  mind  of 
Teresa.  She  had  discovered,  not  the  arrival  of  Love  in  her  bo- 
som, but  that  it  had  long  resided  there  an  unsuspected  inmate 


P  I  C  C  I  O  L  A  .  149 

and  though,  like  Charney,  she  would  willingly  have  accepted,  as 
rewarded  her  own  happiness,  the  perils  and  privations  with  which 
it  was  accompanied,  like  Charney  she  was  reluctant  that  all  these 
should  be  inflicted  upon  another.  The  delight  of  loving,  the  dread 
of  benig  loved,  threw  her  into  a  state  of  mental  contradiction,  and 
produced  the  garrulity  in  which  she  sought  refuge  from  herself. 

Soon,  however,  all  this  constraint,  all  these  efforts  to  disguise 
their  real  sentiments,  were  suddenly  dropped  on  both  sides.  After 
listening  attentively  to  the  information  imparted  by  Girardi,  who 
mentioned  frequent  instances  where  tiie  pardon  of  prisoners,  though 
publicly  announced,  had  not  been  suffered  to  take  effect  for  many 
succeeding  months,  the  young  people  allowed  themselves  to  be 
convinced  ;  and  with  mutual  and  unconcealed  delight,  began  form- 
inor  projects  for  the  morrow  and  succeeding  days,  as  if,  hencefor- 
ward, the  fortress  of  Fenestrella  were  to  be  the  home  of  their  hap- 
piness and  choice.  Restored  to  the  society  of  Teresa,  their 
guardian  angel,  the  two  captives  appeared  to  have  but  a  single 
earthly  misfortune  to  apprehend,  the  liberation  of  one  of  them  to 
disunite  the  little  party. 

Already,  the  philosophers  were  resuming  their  arguments,  and 
Teresa  her  embroidery.  The  pale  rays  of  the  sun,  partially  illu- 
minating the  little  court,  fell  lightly  on  the  countenance  of  Gi- 
rardi's  daughter,  while  a  refreshing  breeze  played  amid  the  folds 
of  her  drapery  and  the  floating  ribands  by  which  it  was  confined. 
At  length,  excited  by  the  freshness  of  the  atmosphere,  she  threw 
aside  her  work,  rose  from  her  seat,  shook  out  the  ringlets  of  her 
raven  hair,  rejoicing  in  the  return  of  hope  and  sunshine,  when- 
suddenly  the  postern-door  was  thrown  open,  and  Captain  Morand, 
accompanied  by  Ludovico  and  a  municipal  officer,  made  his  ap- 
pearance. 

They  came  to  signify  to  Giacomo  Girardi  the  act  of  his  enlarge- 
ment. He  was  to  quit  Fenestrella  without  delay ;  a  carriage  was 
in  waiting  at  the  extremity  of  the  glacis  to  convey  him  and  his 
daughter  to  Turin. 

At  the  moment  of  the  commandant's  arrival,  Teresa  was  stand- 
ing beside  her  father,  but  she  instantly  sank  backward  in  her 
chair,  resumed  her  needlework,  and,  had  Charney  ventured  a  look 
towards  her,  he  would  have  been  startled,  on  perceiving  how  in- 
stantaneously the  hues  of  life  and  health  had  faded  from  her  cheek. 
But  Charney  neither  stirred  nor  raised  his  eyes  from  the  ground, 
while  Girardi  was  receiving  from  the  hands  of  the  officers  those 
papers  and  documents  which  were  to  restore  him,  with  an  unble- 
mished reputation,  to  his  station  in  society.  All  was  now  com-t 
plete ;  and  there  was  no  longer  an  excuse  for  prolonging  the  libe- 
rated prisoner's  preparations  for  departure. 

Ludovico  had  already  brought  down  from  Girardi's  chamber 
13* 


150  P  I  C  C  I  O  L  A  . 

the  solitary  trunk  containing  his  effects; — the  officers  waited  to 
escort  him  back  to  Turin;  —  the  hour  of  parting  had  irrevocably 
struck.  Rising  once  from  her  seat,  Teresa  began  deliberately  to 
put  up  her  working  materials,  and  arrange  the  scarf  upon  her 
shoulders;  she  even  tried  to  put  on  her  gloves,  but  her  hands 
trembled  too  much  to  effect  her  purpose. 

Charney  stood  for  a  moment  paralysed  by  the  blow.  Then 
arming  himself  with  courage,  he  exclaimed,  as  he  threw  himself 
into  the  arms  of  Girardi — 

"Farewell,  my  dearest  father!" 

"Farewell,  my  son!  farewell,  my  beloved  son,"  faltered  the 
good  old  man.  "Be  of  good  cheer.  Rely  upon  our  exertions  in 
your  behalf;  rely  on  the  steadiness  of  our  affection.  Adieu, 
adieu !" 

For  some  moments  longer  Girardi  held  him  pressed  to  his  heart ; 
then,  by  a  sudden  effort,  relinquishing  his  warm  embrace,  turned 
towards  Ludovico,  and,  by  way  of  concealing  his  own  emotion, 
affected  to  busy  himself  by  giving  in  charge  to  the  gaoler  the 
friend  he  was  about  to  leave ;  to  which  the  poor  fellow,  perfectly 
comprehending  the  old  man's  motives,  replied  only  by  offering  the 
support  of  his  arm  to  conduct  his  faltering  steps  to  the  carriage. 

Charney,  meanwhile,  drew  near  to  Teresa  for  the  purpose  of  a 
last  farewell.  Leaning  with  one  hand  on  the  back  of  her  chair, 
her  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground,  she  stood  motionless,  speechless,  as 
if  there  were  no  question  of  quitting  the  place.  Even  when  the 
Count  advanced  towards  her,  she  remained  for  some  moments 
without  speaking,  till,  irresistibly  moved  by  his  paleness  and  agi- 
tation, she  exclaimed,  "  I  call  our  Picciola  to  witness  that" — 
But  Teresa  was  not  able  to  complete  the  sentence ;  her  heart  was  • 
too  full  to  utter  another  syllable.  One  of  her  gloves  at  that  mo- 
ment escaped  her  trembling  hands,  which  Charney  picked  up; 
and,  ere  he  restored  it,  raised  it  silently  to  his  lips. 

"  Keep  it!"  said  she,  while  tears  streamed  down  her  cheeks, 
"keep  it  till  we  meet  again." 

Another  moment,  and  she  was  following  her  father.  They 
were  gone!  All  was  dark  in  the  destinies  of  the  Count  de  Char- 
ney. After  watching  the  closing  of  the  postern-door,  he  stood  like 
one  petrified,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  spot  where  they  had  dis- 
appeared ;  his  hand  still  grasping  convulsively  the.  parting  pledge 
bestowed  upon  him  by  Teresa. 


PIC  CI  OLA.  151 


CONCLUSION. 

A  PHiLoscPHER  has  remarked  that  greatness  must  be  renounced 
before  it  can  be  appreciated;  the  same  thing  might  have  been 
said  of  fortune,  happiness,  or  any  mode  of  enjoyment  liable  to  be- 
come habitual. 

Never  had  the  poor  captive  of  Fenestrella  so  venerated  the 
wisdom  of  Girardi,  the  charms  and  virtues  of  his  daughter,  as 
after  the  departure  of  his  two  companions!  Profound  sadness 
succeeded  to  this  momentary  elation.  The  efforts  of  Ludovico, 
the  attentions  required  by  Picciola,  were  unsufficient  to  divert  his 
attention  from  his  sorrows.  But  at  length,  the  sources  of  conso- 
lation he  had  derived  from  the  study  of  nature  brought  fortii  their 
fruit;  and  the  depressed  Charney  gradually  resumed  his  strength 
of  mind. 

His  last  stroke  of  affliction  had  perfected  the  happy  frame  of 
his  feelings.  His  first  impulse  had  been  to  bless  tlie  loneliness 
which  afforded  his  whole  leisure  to  muse  upon  his  absent  friends ; 
but  eventually  he  learned  to  behold  with  satisfaction  a  new  guest 
seated  in  the  vacant  place  of  the  old  man. 

His  first  and  most  assiduous  visiter  was  the  chaplain  of  the 
prison :  even  the  worthy  priest  whom  during  his  illness  he  had  so 
harshly  repulsed.  Apprised  by  Ludovico  of  the  state  of  despair 
to  which  the  prisoner  was  reduced,  he  made  his  appearance,  for- 
getful of  the  past,  to  offer  his  good  offices,  which  were  received 
with  courtesy  and  gratitude.  More  amicably  disposed  than  for- 
merly towards  mankind,  the  Count  soon  became  favourably,  nay, 
even  affectionately  disposed  towards  the  man  of  God;  and  the 
rustic  seat  became  once  more  the  bench  of  conference.  The 
philosopher  loved  to  eidarge  upon  the  wonders  of  his  plant,  the 
wonders  of  nature,  and  repeat  the  lessons  of  the  excellent  Gi- 
rardi ;  while  the  priest,  without  bringing  forward  a  single  dogma 
of  religion,  contented  himself,  in  the  first  instance,  witli  reciting 
the  sublime  moral  lessons  of  Christianity  :  grounding  their  strength 
upon  the  principles  already  imbibed  by  the  votary  of  natural  re- 
ligion. 

The  second  visiter  was  the  commandant;  and  Charney  now 
discovered  that  IMorand  was  essentially  a  good  sort  of  man, 
whose  heart  was  militarily  disciplined  ;  that  is,  disposed  to  tor- 
ment the  unfortunate  beings  under  his  charge  no  farther  than  he 
was  necessitated  by  the  letter  of  government  instructions.  So 
just,  too,  did  he  show  himself  in  his  appreciation  of  the  merits  of 


152  P  I  C  C  1  O  L  A  . 

the  two  prisoners  recently  released,  as  almost  to  put  Charney  into 
good  humour  with  petty  tyranny. 

But  all  this  was  soon  to  end ;  and  it  became  Charney's  turn  to 
bid  adieu  to  the  priest  and  the  captain.  One  fine  day,  when  least 
j)repared  for  the  concession,  the  gates  of  his  prison  opened,  and 
he  was  set  at  liberty  ! 

On  Napoleon's  return  from  Austerlitz,  incessantly  importuned 
by  Josephine,  (who  had  probably  some  person  besetting  her  in  turn 
with  supplications  in  favour  of  the  prisoner  of  Fenestrella,)  the 
Emperor  caused  an  inquiry  to  be  made  into  the  nature  of  the 
papers  seized  among  the  effects  of  the  Count  de  Charney.  The 
cambric  manuscripts  were  accordingly  forwarded  to  the  Tuileries, 
from  the  archives  of  the  police,  where  they  had  been  deposited; 
and,  attracted  by  the  singularity  of  their  appearance.  Napoleon 
himself  deigned  to  investigate  the  indications  of  treason  contained 
in  their  mysterious  records. 

"  The  Count  de  Charney  is  a  madman,"  exclaimed  the  Emperor, 
after  most  deliberate  examination;  "  a  visionary  and  a  madman ; 
but  not  the  dangerous  person  represented  to  me.  He  who  could 
submit  his  powers  of  mind  to  the  influence  of  a  sorry  weed,  may 
have  in  him  the  making  of  an  excellent  botanist,  but  not  of  a  con- 
spirator. He  is  pardoned!  Let  his  estates  be  restored  to  him, 
that  he  may  cultivate  there,  unmolested,  his  own  fields,  and  his 
taste  for  natural  history." 

Need  it  be  added  that  the  Count  did  not  loiter  at  Fenestrella 
after  receiving  this  welcome  intelligence;  or  that  he  did  not  quit 
the  fortress  alone?  but,  transplanted  into  a  solid  case,  filled  with 
good  earth,  Picciola  made  her  triumphal  exit  from  her  gloomy 
birthplace; — Picciola,  to  whom  he  owed  his  life — nay,  more  than 
life, — his  insight  into  the  wondrous  works  of  God,  and  the  joys 
resulting  from  peace  and  good-will  towards  mankind  ; — Picciola, 
by  whom  he  has  been  betrayed  into  the  toils  of  love ; — Picciola, 
through  whose  influence,  finally,  he  is  released  from  bondage! 

As  Charney  was  about  to  cross  the  drawbridge  of  the  citadel,  a 
rude  hand  was  suddenly  extended  towards  him.  "  EcceUenza  !" 
said  Ludovico,  repressing  his  rising  emotion,  "  give  us  your  hand  ! 
we  may  be  friends  now  that  you  are  g<iing  away ; — now  that  you 
are  about  to  leave  us; — now  that  we  shall  see  your  face  no  more! 
—Thank  Heaven,  we  may  now  be  friends!" 

Charney  heartily  embraced  him,  "  We  s7m/Z  meet  again,  my 
good  Ludovico,"  cried  he;  "I  promise  you  that  you  do  not  see 
me  for  the  last  time."  And,  having  shaken  both  the  hands  of  the 
gaoler  again  and  again  with  the  utmost  cordiality,  the  Count  quit- 
ted the  fortress. 

After  his  carriage  had  traversed  the  esplanade,  and  left  far  behind 
the  mountain  on  which  the  citadel  is  situated,  crossed  the  bridge 


PIC  CIO  LA.  J5R 

over  the  Clusone,  and  attained  the  Suza  road,  a  voice  still  conti- 
nued crying  aloud  from  the  ramparts  —  "Adclio,  Sigiior  Cuntc  ! 
Addio,  addio,  Ficciola!" 


Six  months  afterwards,  a  rich  equipage  stopped  at  the  gate  of 
the  state  prison  of  Fenestrella ;  from  which  alighted  a  traveller  in- 
quiring for  Ludovico  Ritti :  the  former  prisoner  was  come  to  pay  a 
visit  to  his  gaoler  I  A  young  lady,  richly  attired,  was  leaning  ten- 
derly upon  his  arm, — Teresa  Girardi,  now  Countess  de  Charney. 
Together,  the  young  couple  visited  the  little  court,  and  the  mise- 
rable camera,  so  long  the  abode  of  weariness,  scepticism,  and 
despair.  Of  all  the  sentences  which  had  formerly  disfigured  the 
wall,  one  only  had  been  suffered  to  remain; — 

"  Learning,  wit,  beauty,  youth,  fortune,  are  insufficient  to  con- 
fer happiness  upon  man  ' 

To  which  the  gentle  hand  of  Teresa  now  added,  "  if  unshared 
by  afTection :" — and  a  kiss,  deposited  by  Charney  upon  her  lovely 
cheek,  seemed  to  confirm  her  emendation. 

The  Count  was  come  to  request  Ludovico  would  stand  god- 
father to  his  first-born  child  which  was  to  make  its  appearance 
before  the  close  of  the  year ;  and,  the  object  of  their  mission  ac- 
complished, the  young  couple  pr  ceeded  to  Turin,  where,  in  his 
beautiful  villa,  Girardi  was  awaiting  their  return. 

There,  in  a  garden  closely  adjoining  his  own  apartment,  in  the 
centre  of  a  rich  parterre,  warmed  and  brightened  by  the  beams  of 
the  setting  sun,  Charney  had  deposited  his  beloved  plant,  out  of 
reach  of  all  danger  or  obstruction.  By  his  especial  order,  no  hand 
but  his  own  was  to  minister  to  her  culture.  He  alone  was  to  watch 
over  Picciola.  It  was  an  occupation,  a  duty,  a  tax  eternally 
adopted  by  his  gratitude. 

How  quickly — how  enchantingly  did  his  days  now  glide  along! 
In  the  midst  of  exquisite  gardens,  on  the  banks  of  a  beautiful 
stream,  under  an  auspicious  sky,  Charney  was  the  happiest  of  the 
human  kind  !  Time  imparted  only  additional  strength  to  the  ties 
in  which  he  had  enchained  himself;  as  the  ivy  cements  and  con- 
solidates the  wall  it  embraces.  The  friendship  of  Girardi,  the 
tenderness  of  Teresa,  the  attachment  of  all  who  resided  under  his 
roof,  conspired  to  form  his  happiness,  perfected  at  the  happy  mo- 
ment when  he  heard  himself  saluted  as  a  father. 

Charney's  afTection  for  his  son  soon  seemed  to  rival  that  he 
bore  his  young  and  lovely  wife.  He  was  never  weary  of  contem- 
plating and  adoring  them  ;  and  could  scarcely  make  up  his  mind 
to  lose  sight  of  them  for  a  moment.  And  lo !  when  Ludovico 
llitti  arrived  from  Fenestrella,  to  fulfil  his  promise  to  the  Count, 


154  P  I  C  C  I  0  L  A  . 

and  proceeded  to  visit,  in  the  first  instance,  his  original  god- 
daughter,— the  god-daughter  of  the  prison, — he  found  that,  amid 
all  this  domestic  happiness,  —  all  these  transports  of  joy  and 
affection, — all  the  rapture  and  prosperity  brightening  the  home 
of  the  Count  and  Countess  de  Charney,  Picciola  had  been  for- 
gotten : — La  povcra  Picciola  had  died  of  neglect,  unnoticed  and 
unlamented.  The  appointed  task  was  over.  The  herb  of  grace 
had  nothing  farther  to  unfold  to  the  happy  husband,  father,  and 
believer ' 


THE     END. 


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